Trust (Rewrite)
by Little Knight Mik
Summary: A lack of trust can lead to deadly results. An over-abundance of trust can prove to be one's undoing. But when the world comes to an end and only so much trust can be given out, who do you rely on the most to keep everyone alive and safe? [REWRITE OF "TRUST"]
1. 00: The Fool

**I am very sorry for the quality of this** — **I've pretty much written this in various mindsets that are not the most adequate in my rush to get this out before a week passed. Hoo boy.**

 **Welcome to the prologue of the Trust rewrite! You'll notice that the original is still up and running at the moment, and I'll provide a little more information on that as well as everything else at the bottom, but for now please enjoy the prologue!**

* * *

 **Z-Day + 30**

As far as she can recall, there are twelve archetypes when it comes to heroes in stories. Some of them are harder to peg than others, being uncommon or just plain overlooked, but they're there.

 _The Innocent—One who fears abandonment and frequently seeks safety, their greatest strength being their trust and optimism that makes them endearing to others_.

It's not a topic she thinks on often, at least not since all of this started. It's just so surreal—this scenery, a shell of the once decent city of Tokonosu, now resembles the setting one would expect in a great journey filled with danger and hazards. That is, if one replaces hazards with the undead and danger with the living. She entertained the idea of being one of the twelve archetypes, after a discussion had come up a few days into the end.

Archetypal heroes aren't what most people would discuss when trying to flee both the psychological and physical dangers of the apocalypse, but it proved rather well to be a distraction—they didn't go into shock and break down as easily as saying nothing would've made them, and they all learned something new. What probably helped spur the topic forward was the recent lessons in English classes. _What makes a hero?_ They'd be asked the question each time they started a new book, and each time they'd learn of a new type.

She is not the Innocent. She no longer fears abandonment, as there is nothing left to want or be attached to. No one is left from the group, and those who approach her are always at an arm's distance because of her distrust. No matter where she goes, there will be no safe place. She is no longer qualified to be the Innocent.

 _The Orphan—One who fears exploitation and seeks the comfort of parents. Their strength is the pragmatic realism they learned at a young age._

At first, the search for loved ones took over all rational thought. Everyone argued over whether or not they should search, whether or not they should put their own safety second. They'd almost split in half due to the friction of that particular argument. She, of course, had been one of the ones worried for the safety of her family—but now it's more than obvious they aren't around anymore.

She is not the Orphan, at least not beyond the name. There are no parents or parental figures to comfort her, nor does she want any. At this point, all the blood and tears has done is ruin her state of mind rather than give her a sense of pragmatic realism. After all, isn't there a difference between pessimism and realism? She is not the Orphan.

 _The Warrior—One whose thought patterns follow a simple path, wherein they desire to win any battle they come across._

It's been quite some time since she's been back. Haruna High School isn't the fondest place in her heart, at least not when it comes to meeting people. Sure, she's been involved in fights between other survivors and even killed someone over supplies, but Haruna High still remains the place of nightmares and hell.

There aren't as many undead in the courtyard as she remembers, the gates knocked off their hinges by the mass of zombies that explored too far from the main school building. They must have wandered out in the past month, scattering to where the screams lead them. She creeps past the few hovering near the gates quietly, holding her breath as she sidesteps them almost expertly.

Fighting the undead isn't as thrill-seeking as it used to be. After the first one, everything felt dull and it all seemed to stem from a need to fulfil a revenge quota—like killing so many zombies would replace their lost member. She eventually figured out that the void left behind would never be filled, and eventually it just grew with each loss they suffered.

She is not the Warrior. She no longer follows a simple mindset of " _hit and yell_ ", nor does she jump at the opportunity to fight whomever comes across her and crave their defeat. She is not the Warrior.

 _The Caregiver—One who seeks to help others, and they do so with compassion and generosity._

Hardly likely, she thinks as she walks calmly towards the front office. She'd never give anyone the time of day now, nor would she give up with little remains of her supplies to someone else.

 _The Seeker—One who looks for something to improve their life in some way, but in doing so may realise they had it all along in themselves._

As cutesy as it sounds, she knows for a fact that she isn't a Seeker. In the beginning, maybe, but not now. There is nothing left in her, and there is nothing left in the world. There is nothing to seek, and thus she can never be the Seeker.

She strides with purpose through the hall, knocking down one of the zombies in her way with a well-aimed shove. The cut on her palm throbs with the movement, the bandages pressing painfully against the open wound. It's not a recent injury, but her newfound tendency to pick at the cut has prevented it from healing cleanly. She wonders if it's infected, if she'll need to cut it off. She tries to recall the symptoms of tetanus, but fails as the stairs leading to the second floor approach.

 _The Lover—One who seeks true love._

What even is the point of the Lover? She ponders this as she climbs the stairs, uninjured hand on the bloodied and slippery rail for support. How often would one even come across true love, whatever form it takes? Why does it have to be written in books as romantic love? Why is it never presented as a sibling relationship, or the true love of friendship?

She probably felt what counts as true love, before the last one perished. It's hard to say for sure, not having a permanent definition to go by. She is probably the Lover, but she cannot say for sure.

 _The Destroyer—One whose destructiveness reflects an inner fear of annihilation._

While she is not the Destroyer, she has seen people morph horrifically into the archetype. She's witnessed someone from class 2-1 change from a nice, charismatic person to a murderous, revenge-driven beast with a follower count that rivalled half of the groups that made it out of the school alive. She's seen delinquents turn into scared children crying for their mothers, falling before the creature that spawned from 2-1. She is not the Destroyer, but she's seen enough to know what the Destroyer looks like.

 _The Creator—One who fears that all is an illusion, and seeks to prove that what's around them is a reality._

She peeks into the classrooms and recalls ironically fond memories inside each of them, from the times students had disrupted classes to the time where she faced off against one of the zombies inside the class. So much has changed in the course of thirty days, leaving behind memories that bring a tug to her chest.

With a shaky exhale she rubs at the fuzz covering her head; there used to be hair there, but after the incident that involved hair getting caught and one of them almost dying, the remaining five of them agreed to cut their hair as short as possible. She and two others shaved theirs entirely, while the other two had simply left enough behind to still look like their old selves. She wishes now, as she recalls those fond school days, that she had done the same.

There's no point in making what she wants to believe a reality, as she knows damn well that what she sees is only a memory. She is not the Creator, but she has every opportunity to be one if the desire strikes her.

 _The Ruler—One whose goal is to create order and structure, producing an effective society._

Good grief, did she know a Ruler. Arguments broke out on the first day over who would lead them, and it wasn't until one particularly feisty boy had stepped forward and took over, effectively turning their broken democracy into a dictatorship. His orders and structure almost broke them apart, and in the end brought about the end of someone who was better suited for the job.

She continues to the third level stairs, tripping one zombie as it descends them shakily. It falls to the ground with a loud groan, reaching blindly around it in the hopes it can grab her ankle. She starts up the stairs with heavy feet, anxiety hitting her chest. The Ruler holds a responsibility she doesn't want—not now, at least.

 _The Magician—One who has significant power and as such may be feared. They have a need to change something or someone around them._

If only being the Magician were an option. Goodbye, zombies; goodbye, apocalypse. No more death and destruction, no more pain. She'd be able to do whatever she wanted, and no one would oppose her out of fear.

Or so she would ideally believe. The Magician is not someone who always has magic, and they don't necessarily change those around them. Sometimes the Magician changes themselves, and at this point she doesn't think she can. She's too set in her losses, too far gone after all the crap that's been thrown in her face. She's too far away to become a Magician.

The third floor is always a hassle, as the third-years have no elevator that can take them to their classrooms and the stairs are almost always crowded by the second-years trying to get to their own classes. She wonders what half-assed thinking had gone into the school's construction back in the day.

One of the zombies walks past her and bumps her shoulder. It whirls around, realising she's alive, and she quickly retaliates. With a swift front kick, she hits it square in the chest and falls to her behind as it stumbles off of its feet; she quickly jumps to her own again as it tumbles down, this time running as fast as she can for the stairs leading to the roof.

 _The Sage—One who is a seeker of truth and enlightenment, and journeys far in search of a new piece of knowledge._

She never wants to learn more about this world, about what's happening. Her breath catches in her throat as she trips up the stairs. She never wants to be the Sage, if the archetype means learning anything and everything. There are just some things in this world that weren't meant to be learnt about—not but certain people.

She bursts out onto the rooftop and finds a large number of them scattered about, bumbling about as they wait for a sign of life in the area. She swallows the lump in her throat and tentatively walks into the crowd, carefully avoiding a repeat of the third floor.

The fences around the roof have been knocked down by the weight of zombie students leaning against them, leaving half of the roof exposed and most of the zombies vulnerable to accident falls.

 _The Fool—One who wishes to enjoy life as it is. The Fool is one who seeks to "be", feeling a sensation of not being alive_.

Contemplation hits her as she sees an empty, exposed part of the roof directly in front of her. It would be very easy to just walk over and stare down at the ground below, she thinks. All she'd need was a push, incentive to just fall, and it would all be over.

Thoughts like these strike her every so often, but it's today that provides her with the opportunity. She's essentially walked into a death trap, sealing off her exits by simply strolling inside, and the only clear way out is by descending like a bird with broken wings.

Much like the Fool, she no longer feels alive. She wants life to mean something, now that everything is lost, but there is nothing left behind to attach meaning to. She wants so bad to enjoy life again—desperately wishes something would take away the hollow feeling in her chest.

If this were a classic story riddled with archetypal characters, she would be the Fool. After all, a fool would only do what she is about to. Her feet move on their own as she stares at the edge of the rooftop, the fence broken apart and warped. The zombies almost part to make a path for her, egging her on, and for a moment she wonders if they're giving her a chance they never got. Are they giving her a chance to no longer suffer? A chance to escape their fate?

She is most definitely the Fool, she thinks as the view of the ground hits her eyes. If only she'd realised it sooner, if only to tell them back when they'd discussed it.

"If only," says the Fool.

* * *

 **So this is the rewrite/revamp of my old SYOC, Trust. From what you can see, I'm starting from the very beginning** — **and from the description, you can guess what my aim is in this portion of the author's note. Not everyone from the original is as active as they used to be, and as such I don't want to use their characters without permission; so I decided to start over on a clean slate for this fic and open up submissions to fill in the roles of characters who are no longer in the rewrite. The original version of Trust is still up and running, though with a notice saying it's discontinued, so that those with characters in it still have time to let me know if they can be used and also to see the latest author's note I left.**

 **Alrighty, all that said, let's get to the rules/info!**

 **1)** Submissions must be sent in a PM to me with the title "Trust Rewrite: [OC's name]"

 **2)** There is no limit to characters you can submit—if you want to send in six, go right ahead. If you want to send in just one, go right ahead

 **3)** Characters must be aged between fifteen and eighteen

 **4)** Characters DO NOT have to be members of clubs, however that doesn't mean you can't come up with a club for them to be part of

 **5)** The form to fill out can be found at the bottom of my profile

 **6)** The information for the form/my own characters' profiles can be found on the forum link above the form

 **That is just about all I can think of for this part. If there's anything else that needs to be put here, ask me and I'll provide an answer either here or on the forum with the information about the Trust world/Haruna High School. There is no set deadline, mostly due to me wanting to properly prepare in the meantime, so take as much time as you need with your character(s)! Until that happens, for those who keep an eye on my other SYOC fic, Sanctuary, I shall hopefully be able to resume updating soon—with the added explanation for my absence oAo**


	2. 01: The Many Faces of Power

**Okay, okay, let's see what I can remember I need to put here...**

 **So, first order of business: Due to how long I want these chapters to be, I may take a while to update. I want to make sure an update lasts as long as possible and that each character gets their own area to grow in, or in some cases establish as their downfall. So I guess it may take a while to get another chapter out and off the press after this one? That being said, I hope I can get the characters that do appear in this chapter done correctly.  
** **Second order of business: Submissions are most definitely CLOSED as of June 11th, 2016!  
** **Thirdly! And I have no idea if this was obvious enough from the prologue, but no one is safe. Being the horrible, sadistic little shit I am, I left only a handful of clues as to who the Fool in the prologue is. I've written all the clues down and will post a hint at the end of each chapter. Props to anyone who figures it out before the final chapter, as well as anyone who figures out the smaller plot hints left in the prologue.**

 **Anyway! Here's our complete list of characters, in the order of what class they're in! (You'll notice that in a shock twist, for once all I'm revealing about them are their names and classrooms.)**

 **Class 1-3**  
Bonnie Baker—BLEEHH  
Seol-a Kim—hella-gay-trash  
Ares Pavlopoulos—Awesome D.T

 **Class 2-1**  
Sooyeon Baek—hella-gay-trash  
Haruhi Kasagawa—Miss Amelia Young  
Eden L'Orient—BoobleLaBooble  
Yuan Mu—R. J. Niner

 **Class 2-2**  
Tristan Bonheur—Little Knight Mik  
Ambrogio De Vitis—The1AndOnlyYoursTruly  
Rin Himura—Angel Tenim

 **Class 2-4**  
Chie Fujisaki—Little Knight Mik  
Ryuichi Hiroshi—ShinBP  
Andrew Kim—ThatOtherAsian  
Banjou Ryougi—Duwang Radio  
Friedrich Schneider—Hell Devil 13  
Selina Teo—NetherLordHades

 **Class 3-2  
** Ichiro Ietaka—TrickyMint  
Pandora Lamia—Insanity's Jewel  
Lindiwe Mulaudzi—Ziddee  
Aza'zel Vritra—Insanity's Jewel

 **I gotta say, I got a lot more than I expected o.o I hope I do them all justice and that you guys enjoy the chapter! (Also not every character is introduced in this chapter, but I did my best to get as many in as possible!)**

* * *

 **Z-Day – 4**

 _Thursday night! Six P.M.! Mid-year Formal Dance!_

If there had ever been a lazier way to design a poster for a social-formal event, Haruhi thinks she's seeing it now. It's pretty dang hideous, probably just barely making it through the student council's grasps due to time constraints—because why else would someone allow something to be written in Comic Sans, all-caps and rainbow letters? The terrible JPEG images plastered in each corner, depicting dresses and dancing and what may have been an animation of a star, while at the base of it all is a greyscale picture of a tall young man and a short young lady dancing what she can only guess is a samba.

It is truly a sight of horror.

Haruhi shifts on her feet and bites at her lip, a sigh escaping her as she turns on her heel and surveys the courtyard. She's expecting to meet someone this morning, finally having the time between the two of them to meet up; while they often chat online after returning home from school, and sometimes hang out during classes that require partners, Haruhi has found it hard to keep up with the other girl. Between running from other students, therapy, and clubs, she's in too much of a rush to spend time with many other students in her friendship circle.

Students start walking into through the gates at a leisurely pace; it's only seven in the morning, why rush? She spots a number of people she knows the names of—the haughty baseball captain, Ichiro Ietaka, exiting the Mayor's car; the tall, stoic-looking basketball star of the school, Ryuichi Hiroshi, walking his bike onto the campus; the energetic Canadian, Bonnie Baker, practically flying out of her father's car and screaming after Ryuichi. Haruhi leans back against the column and rubs her shoulder absently, watching for the familiar red car that belongs to the Kashima family.

It isn't long before some sign of her friend finds its way to her. Her phone buzzes from its carefully placed spot in her bra, and she reaches for it with only a fraction of a care for who sees. A couple of boys let their gazes linger as they walk past, laughing amongst themselves as they watch Haruhi answer her phone and fix her shirt. She does her best to will away the heat rising to her ivory cheeks.

"Hello?" she says, keeping her voice level and clear.

Aoi's voice is rushed and out of breath on the other end of the line. " _Kasagawa, hi! I'm really sorry but I can't make it today!_ "

"Oh?" Haruhi glances around, looking for some sign of her somewhere. Usually when she gets a call like this, the friend in question is simply hiding in the school yard in the hopes she won't find them. "How come?"

" _Ms. Smith wanted me to help her carry some boxes to the third year floor, so I agreed. It's gonna take a while to get it all up, so I won't be able to hang out this morning. But I'm free at lunch!_ "

Haruhi tries to hold back a sigh. "Yeah, that works. I'll see if I'm free at lunch and meet you at the cafeteria or something."

" _Talk to you later!_ "

"Later." She hangs up and snaps the phone shut with a short hum. "Or not," she adds under her breath.

She tucks the phone back into her bra and lets out a slow sigh. Now what does she do to pass the time before first period? She can't just hang around and loiter somewhere, and she's not in the mood to go to the archery range behind the school. More students filter through the gates—the school council president, Ambrogio De Vitis, walks alongside the representative of class 2-3; the topic of many of the school's rumours, Pandora Lamia, skipping happily in the direction of the greenhouse; and even the tall, bespectacled Friedrich Schneider is doing his best to discreetly put out a cigarette before any teachers come out to see.

It feels like everything's starting to quicken in pace now that she knows where Aoi is, no longer slowed down enough for her to observe everything. More students come in, less time remains until her first class. Haruhi reaches into her bag, which she'd left by her feet as she'd looked at the poster, and pulls out her packet of flavoured gum. She pulls out a few strips and unwraps them, shoving all three of the light red strips into her mouth and chewing impatiently.

A repetitive tapping hits her shoulder, causing her to jump and almost swallow the half- chewed wad whole. She turns, ready to put up her best "oh, you scared me" mask, but feels her expression become frozen in place as she spots who had tapped her shoulder. Chie Fujisaki, the Scout of Haruna High, stands confidently beside the pillar the poster is tacked up on. One hand remains in the pocket of her shorts, the other hand outstretched and almost playfully waving for Haruhi to come closer. Haruhi's eyes flit down to the purple bandana wrapped around Chie's wrist, and then back up at the girl's easygoing expression.

"Kasagawa," Chie greets.

Haruhi nods to her. "Fujisaki."

Chie keeps her hand outstretched, though this time it looks less in greeting and more in expectation. "Got some gum to spare?"

Without a word, Haruhi hands Chie a single stick of gum. Chie leans against the column and unwraps it quickly; as she pops the small stick into her mouth, she balls up the wrapper and tosses it over her shoulder. The two chew in silence for a moment, more students walking by without paying them any attention. Haruhi does take note of one particular student waving in Chie's direction, small smile on his babyish face; Chie pointedly ignores him, surprising Haruhi somewhat.

Instead of waiting for the shorter girl to speak, Chie turns back to her and jabs her thumb at the poster on the column. "See this?" she says.

Haruhi gives the poster a scrutinous, sidelong look. "Unfortunately," she says lowly.

"You going?" Chie blows a small bubble with her gum and pops it with her teeth. "Or nah?"

She hadn't really thought about it. She'd been asked, yes, and she had said she'd go with them; but at this point it all depends on how she feels on the night. She could always show up and then disappear when something goes wrong—because _something_ always goes wrong—or she could just cancel last minute and make it up to her "date" whenever she has the spare time after.

"Depends," she replies. "Are you?"

Haruhi immediately wishes she'd chosen her order of words a bit more carefully. Chie, being the narcissistic person she is, immediately jumps on the assumption that Haruhi will only go if she is going. Haruhi watches in horror as Chie's expression becomes cocky and her pose turns into something straight out of an obscure manga.

"Looking for a date, Queen Bee?" she teases. "I'm amazed you don't already have one—such a shocker!"

"I already do—"

"I literally could not care less about who asked you to go with them. You going or not?"

She frowns at the taller girl. " _Maybe._ "

Chie snorts and rolls her eyes, popping her gum again as she pushes away from the column. "Let me know if that 'maybe' turns into a 'yes'," she demands. "I have opportunities to cling to and I'm not wasting this one."

"Opportunities". Right. The closest thing that Chie Fujisaki could ever mean to "opportunities" is "blackmail material".

She watches as Chie walks away and heads in the same direction as every other student, dragging her backpack through the front doors of the main building with her. With how popular Haruhi's become in recent years, having earned the title "Queen Bee" from her peers and those who want to get closer to her, it's no surprise that Chie has taken an interest in her and her personal life. The girl feeds off of negativity and chaos, always wanting to have her finger wrapped around everyone so she can extort money out of them.

Haruhi's encounters with Chie have increased since the beginning of the school year, but not enough to form a proper opinion of the girl. It's smart, her way of earning money, but it's also a little morally ambiguous.

She checks the time on her phone. Seven-fifteen—still plenty of time to pass before classes start. With an indignant sigh, Haruhi gives in to her boredom and hoists her bag over her shoulder. She heads in the direction of the archery range, hoping that no one else has decided to pay the club a visit as well.

* * *

The smell of cigarettes hits him before the deep baritone voice of Friedrich does, leaving Ryu to sit up straighter in his seat as he looks around the classroom for any sign of the blond boy. A hand clamps down on his shoulder from behind, giving him a short, playful shake, and then his German classmate takes a seat in the desk in front of him. Friedrich turns in the seat and leans against the back of it, a lopsided grin on his face as he waves to Ryu.

"Hiroshi," he says coolly, "you're in early today."

Ryu shrugs at him and scratches the back of his neck. It's not very often that Ryu comes in to school early, usually sleeping in until the very last minute; even with basketball practice happening as early as dawn, he still never rises with the sun. "Eh, figured I'd try something new," he yawns. "Give myself more 'me time' during the day."

Friedrich nods in understanding. "I hear you," he agrees. He doesn't even wait for a reasonable amount of time to pass before he changes the subject, green eyes darting around the room in search of something. "So, hey, you seen Fujisaki this morning yet? I know she's got hiding places but, like, I was hoping to run into her before she scuttled off somewhere."

If there's one thing he'll never understand, it's Friedrich's insistence on getting to know Chie and finding her before she so much as hides herself from other students. He'd said at one point that he was curious about the lengths of her sarcastic wit and power among students, but Ryu's not too sure Friedrich is ready to witness it. After all, no one in the second or third year classes has gotten over what happened last year in the first year girls' bathroom. Especially not Chie, who uses it as a threat when people get on her bad side.

Besides, Friedrich's already got half of the girls in their year level fawning over him. What's one sarcastic grape to a horde of fans?

"Do you mean 'run into her' or—" Ryu lifts both hands up to make air quotes with his fingers. "—' _run into her_ '?"

Friedrich taps his nose with a toothy grin. "I am nothing if not persistent."

And boy, does Chie hate persistent people. Ryu's about to voice this, hoping to give the older boy a tip that'll lessen his efforts in pursuing the girl, but finds himself interrupted by another student clearing their throat beside him.

Both Ryu and Friedrich look up to see the owner of the desk Friedrich is occupying. Being the smallest of the three and sharing a similar hairstyle to Friedrich's undercut, Andrew Kim is a student that oozes with well-meaning intentions. He's a curious case, of course, and he's had more luck with Chie than Friedrich could ever hope to; Ryu's surprised the boy doesn't have more friends in the class thanks to that fact.

There were times, back when they'd first been introduced in the class, where Andrew isolated himself with statements about being an American first and foremost that made some classmates nervous to approach him; now, though, Ryu and Chie theorise that Andrew's small friendship circle has more to do with the nervousness that comes with his heritage. Korea and Japan don't get along on the best of terms, from what Andrew's told him during free periods, and his wariness of other students says a lot about how much he views himself in their eyes.

Andrew gives Friedrich an apologetic smile, fixing the fatigue jacket slung over his arm. "I—I'm very sorry," he says softly. "Could I please have my desk?"

"No problem, Kim." Friedrich puts his hands up as a gesture of peace as he stands. Andrew nods in thanks, the silver crucifix around his neck dangling to and fro with the movement, and Friedrich hurriedly moves over to the desk in front of Chie's—just diagonal from Ryu's and to the left of Andrew's.

Andrew joins in on their conversation pretty quickly when Friedrich remembers how often the dark-haired boy feeds Chie information, presenting the same message to the blond that Ryu had been trying to get through to him.

"Seriously," Friedrich chuckles, "how do you get close to her?"

A shrug comes from Andrew. "Honestly? You don't. I'm still not as close as Hiroshi is to her, and I'm pretty sure I've told her more things than he has."

Ryu snorts quietly. "She sees you as gossip material, then," he comments. "She'll spring prices on you once she figures out how to weave rumours out of them."

Andrew groans to himself and wipes at his eyes tiredly. A deep sigh comes from Friedrich at the reaction, the message finally getting through instead of going over his head. As harsh as it is to crush his goal, Ryu and Andrew are doing it a lot more delicately than Chie would.

"Maybe I can find common ground with her?" Friedrich gestures wildly at Ryu and Andrew. "I mean, something we have in common that fate pretty much had in store for us—like how you two share a birthday."

"That's not 'fate'," Andrew sighs. "That's just coincidence."

"Alright, fine. _Coincidences_ that we have in common."

Andrew and Ryu groan at the same time. Today's apparently another day where Friedrich is too determined to be swayed, clinging desperately to gimmicks that can get him in with the school's Scout. In a desperate attempt to change the topic, Andrew leans back and looks to Ryu over his shoulder.

"I almost forgot," he says. "Did you know we're getting a new student in a couple of days?"

Friedrich's interest is piqued at the change of topic. "What? Really? Where'd you hear that?"

"I heard some people in the main office talking over the phone with their social worker, I think. Another kid who got in on a scholarship, though they're not from Japan."

It's only natural that Andrew would hear something like this in the main office of the school—he's pretty much the teacher's pet of every class, busily helping the staff with whatever and earning a good reputation with everyone he meets. Ryu's pretty sure the principal even recommended Andrew go for a spot on the student council, though whether or not he'd turned it down or lost remains to be heard from the Korean boy.

A loud slam comes from beside Ryu, very clearly a bag hitting hollowed wood. Friedrich jumps in alarm while Andrew remains unshaken; a few blissful seconds of silence, stretching throughout the whole classroom, are what precede the sudden interrogation of Andrew.

Lo and behold, Chie Fujisaki herself is summoned wherever gossip is bound. She stands behind the chair of her desk, leaning on the surface as she watches Andrew with a near-murderous smile. All of Friedrich's bravado in befriending her vanishes at the sight of the expression, a nervous smile on his face as he glances hurriedly between the two students staring each other down.

"And how is it," Chie growls, "that _you_ heard this before me, Mr. Goody Two Shoes?"

Andrew raises a brow at her, replying in a neutral tone, "Because people aren't afraid of me selling their secrets on the internet and in the school yard. Plus, the vice principal still doesn't trust you after the bathroom incident."

She pulls out her chair and sits in it calmly, her face relaxing as she resumes chewing at what appears to be gum. Neither Chie nor Andrew break eye contact with each other, not even when she demands, "How much do you want for everything you know?"

Andrew lets out an appalled gasp. "Selling information about a new student to you would be _immoral_."

"Schneider would do it." She jabs her thumb in the direction of Friedrich. Andrew still doesn't give in.

"Schneider is desperate to get in your good graces. I'm more than fine with keeping this to myself."

Chie growls to herself and sinks into her seat with a pout. " _Fine_ ," she spits. "I'll just find a way to get the information myself."

They all turn in their seats to face the front of the room, though the time is hardly even close to when their class starts. There's still half an hour to kill, but everything still feels a little too tense for Ryu's liking. Not even Friedrich, previously set on hunting down and finding things to put he and Chie on common ground, is willing to say anything to break the silence. Instead, the blond boy fixes his glasses and bids the trio a good day, scuttling away to his seat in the front row and immediately jumping into a conversation with another small group.

Poor Friedrich, Ryu thinks. The guy wants so bad to be part of Chie's inner circle, and yet he just got slandered by both the nicest and greediest students in class. But he said so himself earlier—he's persistent. Ryu knows that Chie will come complaining to him that Friedrich won't stop looking for her.

At least he doesn't seem too deterred by the comments of Chie and Andrew, easily jumping into his flirtatious antics and throwing charming smiles at the students he chats with. Ryu doesn't miss the way Friedrich hides one of his hands behind his back, the way his thumb slides over his index finger and presses down in one swift motion. He can almost imagine the sound of the crack that it would've made, too quiet to be heard in the midst of conversation.

A small grumble comes from his left, bringing his attention back to the green-haired girl pouting at her desk. Ryu can just barely hear a huff of a chuckle escape from Andrew as he pulls a small brown book out of his backpack. From a cautionary glance, Ryu can see Chie glaring out of the window her desk is situated beside—though where that glare sticks, he can't say from where he sits.

He sighs deeply and leans against his desk. "Alright," he says. "What's got you in a mood?"

Chie jumps straight into her accusations, throwing her hands up in the air as she lets out a frustrated growl. "It's that stuck-up Kasagawa," she growls. "I have done _everything_ I can think of without resorting to calling in favours to get dirt on her, but she's either too closed off or too hard to find. It's like she doesn't want me to know anything about her!"

Ryu raises a brow at her. "Shocker," he deadpans.

"And don't even start about the rumours about her—those are just baseless and amateur whispers that probably aren't even true. God, _I_ could come up with something better than 'Kasagawa's dad is a mafia boss'. I've seen mafia—that dainty little queen doesn't fit the bill."

"You know rumours are called rumours because they aren't true, right?" He clears his throat, adding, "Plus, I'm pretty sure you'd come up with something even more farfetched to get money out of her."

"Okay, but my rumours would be _good_. Believable to the point of ruining her life."

Andrew turns a page in his book loudly, cutting her off before she can go on. As he rests his chin in his palm, Andrew comments, "And we see a clear example of how far gone you are in your sadistic hobbies, Fujisaki. Tell me, when you inevitably wind up in Hell will you get close to Satan just to stab him in the back and take his throne?"

Chie doesn't deign to give him an answer, instead demanding that Ryu kick Andrew's chair for her to make him shut up.

* * *

Despite all the pleasantries that the morning has provided so far, there's still one thing that needs to be done that only inspires dread. The envelope feels heavy in the pocket of his joggers, the wax seal holding it shut almost burning his thumb as he traces the symbol pressed into it. He's willing to do anything his father wishes in order to stay in his good graces, but things involving _this_ leave him almost too nervous to successfully keep up the mask he puts on each day.

He pushes open the doors to the theatre, eyes flitting from seat to seat in the hopes of finding who he's looking for, until they finally come to a halt at the stage. The theatre club is going through rehearsals for some production they plan on doing before the end of the first semester, the unlikely leads of the show going through a fight scene with awkward pacing.

From what he can guess, the scene is supposed to revolve around the tall brunet boy and the short blonde girl; the blonde screams something about sweet oblivion, and then falls dramatically to the ground as the brunet "impales" her with his prop spear. The scene continues on before someone else walks onstage, narrating the events, but comes to a grinding halt as the blonde springs to her feet and leaps at the brunet like a grasshopper.

"No man can slay the Baker!" she screeches, snaking her arm around his neck in a playful headlock as her legs wrap around his waist for balance.

The narrator breaks character and yells at her to get off the brunet. He makes his move now, while the group is distracted, and walks at a casual pace into the front row of the theatre.

Gio can remember a time he walked through the theatre doors and stared in awe at the stage and rows upon rows of seats, his heart fluttering in his chest as he considered joining the theatre club. They never had a lot of members, resulting in only small shows that required one person to play multiple characters, but they made the most of what they had. A few days after discovering the club, though, he'd been quickly turned off by the garish costumes and over-exaggerated face paints. Besides, his method of acting is better suited for politics—not the stage.

The narrator finally takes notice of him, and he scours his mind for her name. She's a tall, lanky thing; one of the average-looking girls in his year level, but she makes up for it by being seemingly everywhere at once when you need her. He's pretty sure her surname is Hinazuki—though her first name always escapes him.

"Oh, President," she greets, her expression a mixture of surprise and exhaustion. "I didn't expect you here this morning."

Gio shrugs. "Something had to be delivered and I had the free time," he half-lies. "Besides, it's been a while since I've seen this place outside of assemblies and ceremonies."

To emphasise his point, he cranes his head up at the lights above the stage and feigns a mildly awed look. Hinazuki chuckles to herself.

"Well, you visited during a difficult day," she admits. She reaches up and tightens her low ponytail before gesturing back at the blonde and brunet onstage. "Baker and Thomason need to practice a scene, but Baker keeps breaking character to 'avenge' her character."

Which means Hinazuki might be willing to let Gio take the blonde for a few minutes. He can pretend he'll talk some sense into her, give her some pointers, and then be on his way after he finishes his business.

He swipes at the tip of his nose with his thumb, clearing his throat nervously. His eye flit to Hinazuki's hand as it raises to push a stray strand of hair behind her ear—and it lingers on the small, silver ring around her middle finger. It's a pretty thing; probably custom-made, judging by the weave-like pattern of the band, and he'd be willing to bet at least one of the small gems tucked into the weave's gaps is real. "I'd really hate to be a bother," he says, quickly looking her in the eye again, "but I kinda need to borrow Baker for a bit. It's for the delivery I mentioned."

Hinazuki's expression twists into one of uncertainty. Gio curses her in the back of his mind—she's hesitating. "I don't know..." she mutters.

"I'll give her a quick talk to about her character, too!" he tries again. A quick glance to the stage shows that the blonde hasn't even climbed off of Thomason, the boy now laying on the ground and turning blue as that grip shows no sign of loosening. "Find some middle ground that won't put Thomason and whoever his understudy is in the infirmary on opening night."

The girl pales at the thought, whirling around to check on the two students and almost screaming out loud at the sight of the suffocating boy. Gio can feel his impatience rise with each step Hinazuki takes away from him, almost glowering at the girl as she leaps up onto the stage and drags the smaller girl off of Thomason.

All he wants to do is get this over with swiftly, but not even that seems to be good enough for these kids. Sometimes he wonders if he never joined the theatre club this year _because_ of its current members.

Hinazuki hoists herself and the offending student off of the stage, giving the blonde a light shove towards Gio. "Baker, President wants to speak with you," she orders. Thomason wheezes loudly on the stage, slowly curling into a foetal position. "Don't cause any trouble for him, for crying out loud."

Gio nods to Hinazuki with feigned gratitude, but Hinazuki is too quick to return to Thomason's side to notice. With great reluctance, he turns his attention to the small ball of energy in front of him.

Much to Gio's chagrin, he's had to deal with Bonnie Baker a lot more than he'd want to ever since the current school year started. Having the position of School Council President has its perks, but sometimes they don't work out the way he'd like them to; especially the perk that involves a degree of familiarity with almost every student in the school. It's almost a basic requirement for Gio to be as close to social butterfly status as possible, and his father is very much well aware of this.

With a forced smile, he points to the doors to the lobby and says, "Why don't we talk in private?"

With a loud, "Sure!" Bonnie leads the way to the doors, the short heels of her brown boots making a "click-clack" sound against the floor with every step. Gio follows after casting one last glance at Hinazuki, and then it's all too soon before he's left alone with Bonnie.

Another perk of being School Council President is how much people _don't_ suspect you of something. Coming from a family like his, where more often than not the family business will get in the way, Gio finds it to be a blessing and a curse. His recreational hobbies and usual tricks leave him free of all suspicion if something goes wrong, but at the same time it makes him the perfect person deliver things like the letter in his pocket to the children of competition. Gio lives for his family—he'd do anything for them—but Bonnie Baker, of all people, is someone he's not fond of dealing with.

Gio looks warily to the windows covering almost every wall of the lobby, checking the buildings visible for any signs of people watching. Every time he's met with her outdoors, he's always seen a flash of light in the corner of his eye; they always come from tall buildings near Haruna High, and he finds it to be too concerning to write off as the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

He decides to get this over with quickly. He shoves his hand into his pocket as Bonnie tightens her messy French braid and pops the collar of her white blouse. Before he can so much as say anything, she points to him with finger guns and smiles in the most unflattering, uncharming way possible. "What can I do for you, Salt n' Pepper?"

Gio squints at the name. She always calls him something different when they meet—the last nickname had been "Girl's Best Friend", an obvious reference to his diamond earrings. Salt n' Pepper has him at a loss, though. "I'm sorry?" he says quietly.

Bonnie gestures to her own honey blonde hair as she explains, "The hair—yours. Cuz' it's grey and black. Salt and pepper— Well, actually, now that I think about it, salt is usually white instead of grey. In fact, I don't think there's any kind of seasoning that's grey. Oh! Poppy seeds! Those are grey—"

Gio clears his throat loudly. "Poppy seeds are from the same kind of flower opium comes from," he adds, mostly to derail Bonnie's rambling. He also hopes she gets the hint with his sudden mention of opium. "Which brings me to why I needed to speak with you."

The girl's lips form a perfect "O" shape while her wide, doe eyes grow impossibly wider. "President, did you bring me poppies?" she gasps.

Good grief. Gio smiles uneasily. "Not quite," he says. "I was asked to give you a letter to pass on to your father. Just to be clear, he _is_ Ted Baker, yeah?" As though to reinforce the truth in his words, Gio pulls the letter out of his pocket and shows Bonnie the name written on the front. There is nothing else written—no address, no return address—and if he'd been giving it to anyone else, he would most definitely be asked who had written it with a degree of wariness.

Bonnie nods, her head flying back and forth at rapid speeds. "That's him," she says. "Can I look at it, or do I have to take it home and give it to him unopened?"

It couldn't hurt to have her look at it—after all, she's probably set to inherit the same kind of business that Gio and his younger brother are—but Gio can't say for sure what she'd be seeing on the paper folded inside. For all he knows, his father could have written a death threat or a weighty accusation aimed towards Ted Baker, and Bonnie might end up never giving it to the man for fear of his life.

He shakes his head just a fraction. "Better not. I think it's pretty confidential business stuff. I don't even know what the letter says."

" _Oh_ ," she says slowly. With a quick flick of her wrist, Bonnie shoves her hand onto her forehead and salutes Gio. "You can count on Commander Egg to deliver it unopened, then!"

He almost lets himself grimace at her self-appointed title, but holds himself back in time to hand the letter over to her with a nod of thanks. Bonnie proudly tucks it into the back of her suede skirt, between the tight waist of the material and the blouse tucked beneath it. Gio just knows that envelope is either going to be stolen (in which case, he'll end up facing some kind of consequence for it) or lost during the day.

Before much else can be said, the doors to the theatre burst open. Hinazuki grunts as she drags Thomason out of the room over her back, the boy's toes skidding on the floor as she stumbles out. The position is awkward and alarming, giving off the impression that Hinazuki will be next to lose consciousness due to suffocation, and Thomason's dead weight doesn't seem to be helping much. With a concerned hiss, Gio rushes over and helps steady Thomason as Hinazuki regains her footing. His hand brushes against the finger with the ring on it, though Hinazuki doesn't seem to notice as she shifts all of Thomason's weight onto Gio.

Gio hoists the smaller boy over his back in a piggyback position. Thomason's arms dangle limply over his shoulders as he wheezes, "Thanks, President."

"No prob," Gio grunts. He looks over to Hinazuki, watching as the girl rotates her arm and rubs her shoulder with a pained expression. "Want me to take him to the nurse's office?"

" _Please_ ," Hinazuki growls. She turns to glare at Bonnie, taking on a dangerous posture while the blonde watches innocently as Gio moves for the glass doors. He escapes just in time to miss the beginning of Hinazuki's loud lecture, the door slamming shut just as the words, "Baker, I _swear_ —" escape her.

The theatre isn't very far from the main building, being around the same distance as the greenhouse in total; there's a short, stone-lined walkway leading to the courtyard in front of the main building, lending to the school's overall attempt at a natural take on suburban areas. It's both awkward and pretty, especially with how outdated the look has become over the past decade. Beyond the walkway, to Gio's luck, the infirmary is just on the first floor of the building.

Actually, since each year level occupies a single floor, he's pretty certain every floor has one—an infirmary, that is. He remembers having to go to the nurse's office on the first floor last year, but he's more than certain he'd been told at the beginning of this year that second-year students are required to go into a room beside class 2-1. He'll have to check after he drops off Thomason.

A few helpful students lend a hand on his trek to the main building. Another member of the student council, Iwatari, holds open the front door for him and even lets the main office know that Gio is taking Thomason to the infirmary. Iwatari is not only the class representative of 3-3, but also the current treasurer of the school council and the most reliable person Gio has in the group. The older boy is his senior, and he thinks that Iwatari has earned the respect a senior should be given—after all, he's thorough in his work as the treasurer and still manages to keep up that easygoing personality everywhere he goes, which is a lot better than the uptight and inefficient members of the student council.

One of Thomason's classmates takes the boy from Gio and finishes the journey to the infirmary, allowing Gio to do as he pleases with the reassurance that Thomason will be in safe hands. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns, finally able to relax after that horrifying experience; he hopes he won't have to relay messages to Ted Baker again anytime soon, especially with a school event coming up. The council was severely underprepared for the dance, and everything's been in a constant state of "just barely" in regards to time. Gio can't afford more stress, lest the school's fun be ruined by him forgetting something.

He stops at the steps leading up to the second floor, pausing to self-consciously pick at his hair. In the end, what did Bonnie decide to call the inch-long curls of grey and black hair? Salt n' Pepper, or Poppy Seeds? She never officially said the latter, though she did mention the seeds when thinking about grey seasonings. Gio sighs; now he's going to be bothered by which nickname she decided to tack onto him today. He doesn't even _like_ Bonnie—why care what she calls him?

It's dumb, and he has better things to think about. Like Hinazuki's ring.

He digs into the pocket of his joggers, feeling around for that warm metal, and pinches the ring between two fingers as he drags his hand out from the pocket. It's lighter than it looks, feeling almost hollow between his index finger and thumb. It's certainly prettier up close, most definitely something that had been commissioned by a jeweller for Hinazuki.

Gio closes one of his eyes and raises the ring above his head, using the light from the second floor doorway to inspect the small green gems lining the middle of the ring. For all its prettiness and workmanship, there's still a chance of it being absolutely worthless. He rotates it a few times, watching as each small peridot shines like stained glass. There's a high chance that the small gems are some kind of replica, but finding out will have to wait till Alberta can take a look at it at home.

A sharp pop echoes through the quick stairway, causing Gio to lose his grip on the ring and fumble about for it as it bounces on the floor. Once it's safe in the palm of his hand, he runs through countless excuses in his mind in the hopes that he can explain away the ring. His heart sinks into his gut when he catches sight of the person standing above him, just a few steps away from the middle of the stairway.

"Ch—" he stutters, his Italian accent becoming more prominent in his shock. "Chill Legs."

Another sharp pop of bubblegum, accompanied by a neutral, disinterested expression.

"I—I mean Chisaki." Crap, why did he use that name? She hates it when he calls her that at school.

Chie's nose scrunches up in distaste at the name. "Think very carefully about your last guess," she threatens. Gio takes a step back and inhales deeply, trying to steel himself.

He was wrong. Bonnie isn't the worst he has to put up with.

Ever since Gio tried to play his usual tricks on her the first time they met, Chie's been on his scent like a bloodhound. She demands secrets from him, threatens to oust him in exchange for favours, and he thinks she might go so far as to ruin his reputation if he doesn't handle this exchange delicately. He swallows the lump in his throat and wraps his hand tightly around the ring.

"Ch— _Fujisaki_ ," he corrects. "What can I do for you?"

She tilts her head to the side like a puppy, playing the innocent act as her disgusted expression melts away into her usual bored one. Chie allows herself a little smirk before she answers him, giving Gio a perfect view of the small gap between her front teeth. "Being in the position you are," she drawls, "I imagine there's quite a lot you can do."

Here it comes—the blackmail. She'll ruin him all because of a ring that's probably fake. "H—How so?"

She smirks at him, the innocence in her posture gone as she leans forward, practically looming over Gio. Normally she stands almost a head shorter than him, what with Gio being a good six feet tall, but she always seems to run into him and demand things from him whenever she has the literal upper ground.

"That's a nice ring," she says offhandedly. "Just get it today?"

A jolt runs up his spine. "Yeah," he replies slowly. He needs to test the waters, see where she goes with this. "Why?"

She shrugs dramatically. "It's just funny. I could've sworn I saw Hinazuki with a ring just like it this morning. Must be a 'twinsies' kind of day."

"Th—That right?"

"Oh, yes. You know what? I'm sure she'd love to see how alike your rings look! Why don't we go see her now and compare them?"

Gio snarls at her, quickly checking over his shoulder for any students coming their way. Everyone seems to be ignoring them on purpose, most likely due to the presence of Chie, which leaves him with just enough wriggling room to bite back against her.

"What do you want?" he demands. "Just name it already."

She claps her hands once, delighted to hear the response. "Glad we're on the same page," she says. "I heard we have a new student coming to our school, and I wanted to get to know them before I _get to know them_."

"What do you need me to do for that?" he sighs.

"I don't know, magic man. You tell me." At his disgruntled glare, Chie lets out a babyish coo. "Oh, come on. It's not that hard to figure out. Just take a peek at that little file in the office and send me an email with the details. You still remember it from last time you had to send me something, don't you?"

With great reluctance Gio forces his head to drop into a nod, eliciting a pleased smile from the green-haired girl. She pokes at the piercing on her lip with her tongue, something he's noticed her do each time she catches him in the act, and begins to descend the stairs at a leisurely pace. Her hand claps against his chest forcefully, thumping hard against him.

"Thanks, Prez," she says lowly, almost mocking him. "You're a real stand-up guy."

And with that, she abandons both Gio and the stairway.

* * *

Half-past eight. She still has fifteen minutes until she needs to head to class. Haruhi wouldn't mind the extra time if someone hadn't decided to join her.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks. His voice is almost distant, suggesting that he's leaning against the wall that most members observe from during practice. Haruhi sneers as she pulls another arrow out of the quiver hanging from the beam beside her.

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly. As she nocks the arrow she distinctly hears the rapid clicking of a lighter. He inhales sharply as she draws back the string of the bow.

As he exhales, he wheezes, "Too late." Haruhi rolls her eyes as she steadies her grip. They stand in silence for a few seconds as she lines up her shot, hoping to hit at least somewhere within the Gold.

"If you hit the bullseye," he pipes up, knocking down her concentration, "I'll actually put some effort into what I wear on Thursday."

With a frustrated sigh, Haruhi releases the arrow with her desire for Gold clouded by her need to shoo the annoying boy away. The arrow flies swift through the air, and hits the target with a muted " _thnk_ ". He chuckles; the arrow just barely missed her goal, instead hitting the inner red ring.

She turns back to him and lowers the bow to her side. True to her assumption, Ichiro is leaning back against the wall and watching her from behind, boredom mixing with amusement on his handsome, heart-shaped face. Like always, he's wearing his baseball uniform—displaying proudly to the city their school's colours of red, white and black.

"Archery doesn't have a bullseye. Besides, don't you have teammates to pull in line?" she sighs.

Ichiro shakes his head at her. "Had to clarify something," he says. "Figured you'd be where no one else would go unless it was compulsory. Somewhere that wasn't the greenhouse."

She shudders at the thought. As much as Haruhi likes being alone, she's not willing to risk stepping into the territory of Pandora and her creepy boyfriend for peace and quiet.

Haruhi carefully places the bow on the ground and stands back up to stretch her arms, feeling her shoulders pop as she rolls them slowly. Ichiro only watches patiently as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. In the back of her mind, she hopes that she doesn't get blamed for the area reeking of ashes and nicotine when archery club starts in the evening.

"Alright," she grunts, relaxing. "What do you need to clarify?"

Ichiro exhales slowly, the smoke clouding his features in an almost cartoonish way. "Just want us to be on the same page with this; Thursday is just for public opinion's sake. I'd go so far as to say it's purely platonic, but..." He waves his hands as though they're scales, ash from his cigarette falling onto the wood floor. "I'm pretty sure we'd never be caught dead together on a normal day."

He's got that right. As much as Haruhi dislikes everyone lying to get on her good side, preferring honestly and open people, Ichiro is just _too_ open and honest. A spoiled brat, even. She doesn't know what goes on in the household of Tokonosu's Mayor to produce such a bratty teenager, but there's certainly something missing there that most middle-class families tend to have.

"So Thursday is just to boost our egos, correct?" She crosses her arms in front of her chest, shifting her weight to one foot. "That sounds painfully political, Ietaka."

He scowls at her. "It's not political," he growls. "It's a measure to keep both of us at the top. After all, we wouldn't want _Queen Bee_ to lose her squeaky clean reputation and constant flurry of admirers."

"God forbid the Boy Wonder of baseball take second place."

Ichiro ignores her comeback, instead pushing away from the wall and striding over to her side with quick steps. She holds her breath as the smell of his cigarette hits her hard, almost making her gag as he leans down close to her in order to whisper something in her ear.

His voice is low and raspy, filled with confidence as he informs her, "Listen, Kasagawa. Without our popularity, what are we? We're _nothing_. Just a failed gymnast and a baseball captain with a plan. And it may be true that we don't like each other, but I think we can benefit from being seen together at the very least. So do me a favour and actually show up on Thursday night; after all, I _loathe_ embarrassment."

Haruhi grasps the muscles of her arms tightly and painfully, heart racing at the comment Ichiro had made. _Failed gymnast_ —the scar on her knee almost throbs at the thought. Ichiro leans away from her and bids her a short farewell, announcing that he has a snack machine waiting to be kicked by him in exchange for food. Haruhi remains rooted to the spot, still holding her breath as the last of the smoke clears from her vision.

Of course he would use that against her. He's almost as bad as Chie, using people's weaknesses to make a point, and Haruhi almost despises him for it. Ichiro Ietaka is honest and always has a plan, but that honesty can be harsh and his plans never include others. She inhales deeply and feels her lungs ache at the intake of breath, her knees almost shaking as she bends down to pick up her bow again. She stumbles over to the rack by the storage room, places her bow on its rung, and tries to steady herself as she shakes off his comment.

Haruhi has everything she could need right now—she's pretty, gets good grades, and knows a lot of people. One mistake in her past isn't enough to shake her, she thinks; one _accident_ isn't enough to undo everything she rebuilt after her surgery. Even if she wanted to pick up gymnastics again, she wouldn't get far. What's the point of lingering on it?

She's Haruhi Kasagawa. She's strong. She's intelligent. She's better off than most of the students in this school. Most important of all, she's not so weak that she'll let two little words unravel her cool persona.

She ignores the pain in her knee as she turns on her heel. With practiced ease and careful thought, Haruhi forces her lips up into her signature crooked smile. She walks to the target and retrieves the arrows; she forces any negative thoughts out of her mind; she ignores the questions of "what if?" circling the back of her mind.

It's eight-forty-two. She may as well make her way to class and ease into her schedule.

* * *

 **Yikes, I hope this was enough to last a while. It'll take some time before the zombies appear (I mean dang, we're still in the morning of four days prior), so I hope everyone enjoys the first look at some of our cast members. Let me know what you think, and feel free to shoot me a message if I haven't portrayed a character right yet.**

 **Now then, here's our first hint for who the Fool is:**

1: The Fool is a female student.

 **An obvious hint. But hey that eliminates like half of the characters, right?**

 **Anyway, like I said before, the fic is still very much open for submissions and won't close until the description says so. I hope that gives people more time to make characters while also giving a taste for how it'll be written, and that you all enjoy the ride!**


	3. 02: More than Meets the Eye

**SO THIS WENT LONGER THAN EXPECTED**

 **So I updated sooner than I'd hoped, mostly for two reasons; I kinda wanted to leave enough time to do a birthday update (which I honestly doubt I'll do in time, considering we've got, what, three or so weeks till the 12th of June comes around and this took, like, _longer than that_ ) and I also wanted to get this done before too long went by. I wasn't expecting to finish it all in one go, though oAo**

 **Different bits of the chapter were written at different times, so many apologies if they don't make much sense in some parts!**

* * *

If she wasn't threatened with expulsion for skipping this class so much, she can say with absolute certainty that she'd be skipping it right now. Chie couldn't care less about numbers and the old Greek men who have theories named after them. In fact, she'd go so far as to say that she cares more about the fact that Archimedes said, "Do not disturb my circles!" during a siege upon Syracuse than the fact that Pythagoras coined the formula of "a-squared plus b-squared equals c-squared". The man gave people the chance to make high school level mathematics even more difficult; at least Archimedes stuck with his circle shtick until some Roman soldier killed him.

The wet sounds of the marker against the board reach even the back row, Chie finds, as Mr. Asai writes down the agenda for the quiet class. They have an hour to follow it before their next class starts, yet the man always shoots too far for the class to reach. None of these plebeians will finish two whole chapters of their textbooks in an hour—Chie herself can't even do it!

In bright red marker, situated on the top left corner of the whiteboard, Mr. Asai has written:

 _9:00—9:15 Finishing Chapter 4  
9:15—9:30 Chapter 4 revision/Introduction to Chapter 5  
9:30—10:00 Starting and completing Chapter 5_

 _See me during lunch:  
Shiratori  
Keller  
Schneider  
Fujisaki_

She can practically hear herself screaming through time and space at the sight of their agenda. Two students in the middle row flop against their desks with matching groans, while Friedrich—seated in the opposite corner to Chie, right at the front row—just turns in his chair and waggles his eyebrows at her.

Chie sneers back at him. He's been on her tail a lot lately, nipping at her heels like a playful puppy. For the past month she's caught him running past her hiding spots in search of her, and it seems like the only truly safe place is the greenhouse at this point. As much as she doesn't want to risk incurring the misdirected wrath of Pandora, the fact that Aza'zel has most of the student body too scared to even _look_ at him plays considerably well into her favour. She thinks she'll have to use her least favourite hiding place today, if she wants to avoid Friedrich following her and offering to walk her to the staff room.

Mr. Asai pulls out the folder with the class roster inside, listing off each name in alphabetical order. Her eyes dart to the empty seat in front of her, and she pokes at the piercing on her eyebrow as she wonders just where the teacher's pet is while class is starting. It's very rare that he's running late, considering he's a stickler for doing the right thing. She almost scoffs at the thought; all these do-gooders in her class and sitting around her. It's almost too unbelievable to be true. Part of her wishes she were a year older, just to be in one of the many classes in the floor above filled with delinquents and disruptive students. At least then she could avoid doing all this boring mathematics work.

"Fujisaki," Mr. Asai calls. Chie raises her hand lazily and responds that she's in the class. Mr. Asai hums to himself once and ticks her name with a dissatisfied expression.

It's almost like he wants a reason to send her to the principal's office and have her expelled. After all, she wouldn't be facing that expulsion threat if it weren't for Mr. Asai being a nosey asshole and expressing his "concern" to 2-4's homeroom teacher.

She glances absently to her right, checking to see what her deskmate is doing, and almost chuckles to herself when she sees the impossibly uncomfortable position Ryu has seated himself in. His legs are extended to their full lengths, toes brushing against Andrew's chair ever so lightly, and his spine is bent awkwardly over the back of his own chair. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and his head is positioned to stare up at the ceiling, eyes closed as he listens for his name.

He looks almost possessed. She wishes she could take a picture without running the risk of being kicked out of class for being disruptive or something.

"Hiroshi," Mr. Asai calls.

Ryu doesn't even move an inch as he calls back, "Present."

Mr. Asai stares at Ryu with his nose crinkled in disgust. Chie wonders if the balding, pot-bellied man dislikes everyone within a three seat radius of herself—or if he just dislikes 2-4 in general.

He lists off more names, calling out Andrew's and being met with a prim and proper, "Here," as a response. Unsurprisingly, Andrew is met with a pleased expression and an enthusiastic tick of his name.

The far door of their class slides open with a slam, and then a stuttering voice is yelling out all at once, " _I'msosorryI'mlatesir_!"

All eyes fly to the door in surprise, only to find that it's the missing teacher's pet standing in the doorway with his upper body bent down into a bow. Chie almost rolls her eyes at the boy as a red tinge highlights his light, caramel-coloured skin. She's not sure what's more ridiculous: The fact that he'd been on the school campus early enough to catch her talking to Haruhi about the dance and _still_ managed to come in late, or the fact that he's freaking out over it like Mr. Asai doesn't consider him the star pupil of the class and the academic apple in his eye.

"You're fine, Ryougi," Mr. Asai tells him. "Take your seat."

Banjou doesn't even stand up straight as he scuttles into the room, hiding his face from the other students as he slides into his chair and hurriedly pulls his textbook out from his bag. Chie sneers at the back of his head. Little nerd probably took the book home to get some extra studying in.

She calls him a little nerd, but to be fair Banjou stands just as tall as Chie does; the only difference between them may be that Chie just looks a lot more fit than he does, while Banjou has the twiggy physique of someone who seldom exercises. It's no surprise that he's one of the underperformers in their P.E. classes.

Banjou Ryougi is as plain as they come, in her opinion—nothing striking about his appearance, save for his babyish, smooth face and large, circular glasses perched on his nose; there isn't really anything inherently outstanding about him when one eliminates core academic subjects; and most of all, the boy doesn't look to have a single malicious bone in his body. Always following the rules, always wanting to make friends and see the good in everyone. It's childish and disgusting and unrealistic, in Chie's opinion.

Banjou's name is called out by Mr. Asai, and then it's not long before Friedrich and the final few students on the roster respond in the affirmative. A full class, it seems. As Mr. Asai turns back to the whiteboard and starts droning about how disappointed he is in almost everyone's work last week, Banjou looks over his shoulder at Chie and smiles nervously at her.

"Good morning, Fujisaki," he whispers. She glares at him, biting back a remark to keep his work relationship with her aunt out of her life, and waits for him to turn back around and open his textbook before letting her expression relax.

She opens her own textbook and begins to doodle idly on the margin at the edge of her page, half-listening as Mr. Asai drones on about how important it is to follow the formula written out on the board and in the book. The list of places she wishes she could be instead of here is endless, just bordering on the drastic inclusion of living with her dad and brother. If she weren't concerned about people finding out about her job, she'd even add the host club to that list—after all, there are some people who go there in the middle of the day, and Chie's very open to earning money by blackmailing rowdy patrons and delivering drinks.

The rustling of paper catches her attention, her mechanical pencil freezing on its spot at the centre of a spiral she'd scribbled. With a cautionary glance over at Mr. Asai, Chie reaches down onto her desk with her free hand and feels a loose, folded sheet of paper beside her pencil case. A note from Ryu, no doubt, who enjoys the class just as much as Chie does. Ironic, considering it's his strongest subject compared to everyone other class they have.

She unfolds it and keeps it flat against the desk, making sure it stays hidden behind her pencil case. _Dance?_ the note asks of her. Chie pokes at her lip piercing with her tongue as she considers her response, and then she clicks her mechanical pencil once before scribbling her response onto her note: _Money chance_.

She flicks it back over at Ryu's desk before resuming her scribbling, Mr. Asai turning around to demand someone answer the question on the board. No one volunteers, and Andrew is the unfortunate student to be chosen by Mr. Asai. Andrew jumps in his seat and fumbles for his pen, scribbling the equation into his book as he hurriedly tries to decipher it.

The movement of Ryu's feet doesn't escape her, the careful beats of his toes against Andrew's chair no doubt felt by Andrew himself. Ryu taps his foot against the chair's leg six times, pauses, and then adds another solitary tap before sliding his legs back underneath his own desk.

Andrew clears his throat and stutters out a nervous, "Sixty-one."

Mr. Asai nods with pride, going on to solve the equation on the board for the entire class to see. The moment his back is turned, Andrew places a hand on his chest and exhales shakily; he holds up one hand for Ryu to see over his shoulder, thumb and index finger forming an "O" shape, and then Ryu's silently turning his attention to Chie's note by his elbow.

Their buffoon of a teacher is still explaining away the equation on the board, writing down a few more beside it for everyone else to do in their books while he talks, and his back is still turned to the class even as Ryu finishes writing his second note and flicks it over to Chie.

 _Of course. Need a partner in crime?_ it asks.

She rolls her eyes and writes her response on the last bit of clear space available, leaving Ryu only the options of flipping the page or tearing out a new one if he wants to continue their conversation.

 _Do you even own fancy clothes that fit?_ she writes. She folds it and flicks it over at Ryu.

He huffs out a small laugh at the message. Mr. Asai turns just the slightest in Ryu's direction, demanding, "Hiroshi, is something funny?"

"Just realised the punch line of a joke, sir," Ryu lies easily. "Came to me out of nowhere."

"Oh?" He raises a bushy brow, his lips dropping into an unimpressed frown. "And what is the joke?"

"The chicken crossing the road," Ryu goes on. The students in the room mutter amongst themselves in confusion, all having heard that age-old joke at some point in their lives. Chie's almost amazed he's going above and beyond with his lie, instead of writing the joke off as inappropriate for school. "The 'other side' in the answer is the literal afterlife. The chicken is dead."

A few beats of silence pass before a handful of students groan out loud and cradle their heads in their hands, remarking that Ryu's punch line was terrible and cruel. Mr. Asai watches as the classroom becomes rowdy once more, his expression blank as his eyes remain on Ryu. Ryu stares back with an equally blank expression, causing Chie to cover her mouth and keep herself from laughing at the sight.

Mr. Asai clears his throat loudly, silencing the class in mere seconds, and then turns back to the board to resume his lesson. Ryu immediately moves to write his response underneath Chie's, flicking the paper back over to her before Mr. Asai turns around again.

 _It doesn't have to be cocktail party fancy or anything_ , the note declares. Of course he'd try to find a way to put in minimal effort. Though, then again, it's not like he's the easiest person to shop for. Being six-three is both a blessing and a curse for Ryuichi Hiroshi, it seems.

She clicks her mechanical pencil once more and turns it onto its eraser side, hurriedly rubbing at one of the previous messages on the paper. She scribbles a quick response about a last-minute decision, folds the paper in half, and prepares to flick it back over to Ryu.

"Fujisaki," the teacher calls out, barely even looking up from his textbook. The whole class falls silent as Mr. Asai lets his interruption linger in the air. Chie rolls her eyes and practically drops her note onto her desk, keeping a neutral expression on her face as she faces her teacher. "I thought we were past note passing in class."

The textbook snaps shut, and then Mr. Asai is walking down the aisle at a leisurely pace. Chie huffs out a sigh. "Well, I suppose simply talking out loud will have to suffice next time," she says flippantly.

"Perhaps you'd like me to share with the class the notes you and Hiroshi have been passing." He comes to a stop at Chie's desk and snatches the note like some kind of predatory insect, holding it out in front of him as he prepares to read it out loud. Mr. Asai inhales shortly, but stops himself short to splutter, "What in the hell is this?"

Chie clears her throat. "Tengwar, sir."

Mr. Asai opens and closes his mouth in disbelief. He turns for Ryu and gestures to the note with his textbook. "Hiroshi, I assume you know Tengwar as well?" he demands.

Ryu blinks lazily. "My Tengwar is very rusty, sir," he reports. "I haven't been learning it for very long."

With a scowl at the two students, Mr. Asai takes a few steps back and places the note on Banjou's desk. Chie's neutral expression falls, the pained sneer on her face caught by the teacher. Mr. Asai slides it into Banjou's reach, asking the boy, "Ryougi, would you happen to know what this says?"

Moving at a leisurely pace, Banjou picks up the note and looks over the contents with a short hum. Chie's heart hammers in her chest as she tries to think of ways to stop him from deciphering the symbols on the note, keep her conversation with Ryu a secret.

 _Rabid Dog?_ she thinks hurriedly. _No, he's barely even phased by that sob story anymore. Yamamoto? That's a weak one; Yamamoto doesn't even go near him, so no one would believe it. Should I make a rumour? But what would stop him? I'd only have time to say one thing before Asai sends me to the principal's office or something. Damn it, what do I say?_

Banjou opens his mouth and takes in a short breath. She starts to panic more.

 _Think—"Read any good books lately?"—"Woof."—Crack my knuckles as loudly as possible?—"Mama—"_

"It says, 'I don't know how to read Tengwar'."

It takes a while for the words to sink in, but once they do Chie practically collapses onto her desk with a loud wheeze. Ryu does the same, cradling his head in his hands and sighing in relief as Mr. Asai stares at Banjou in disbelief. Silence reigns over the class for a few seconds, allowing them to hear a loud bird chirping in a tree by the window next to the front row, until finally someone lets out a loud snort that quickly turns into an uncontrollable laugh.

Mr. Asai loses control of his classroom at that point. The man excuses himself from the classroom and practically sinks against the door of 2-4 with a deflated expression on his face, causing a passing student to power-walk past the class at the sight of him.

The note slides onto Chie's desk once more. She looks up to see Banjou pushing it as close to her as possible, a small smile on his face.

She frowns at him. "Your ass was almost grass," she growls.

Banjou looks alarmed for a full second before that smile comes back on his face. He fixes his glasses as he replies quietly, "I don't doubt that."

* * *

Lunch may be one of the only good things this school has to offer, right after its baseball team. He's free to roam around wherever he wants, and the right words and actions can score him a free lunch of whatever he pleases.

He's fortunate enough to have most of his team in the same year level as him. Less walking around for him when he wants to mooch off of someone else for his food, and it certainly helps his intimidating image to have a good three or four other students tailing him like some kind of gang. And, like a good gang, they always come to him to find out just where they'll spend their lunches each day. Really helps to save time looking for people and dawdling around the halls, he thinks.

Ichiro leans back in his chair and sits his feet up on the desk, his hands interlocked behind his head. It's only a matter of time before the first few members of his team come to his side in search of commands. For now he plays the waiting game. Brown eyes idly scan the classroom as other students get up and move to other chairs or leave the room. They pause on two people—a boy and a girl—sitting by the windows and conversing quietly; the boy takes one of the wooden bracelets from the girls dark arms, and the girl's large lips quirk into a sheepish grin as his olive face wrinkles in distaste.

God, Ichiro hates this school. It's such a useless place that lets in the dumbest kinds of students, and the only thing remotely interesting or motivating for him is the pecking order that the students have instilled. Haruna High may as well be a forest filled with different kinds of animals—and people like him are the ones at the top of the food chain.

One member of his team wanders in through the front door of the classroom, chugging what appears to be an energy drink. He's quite possibly the biggest weirdo that Ichiro's been kind enough to let into his group—Frisk, a Swedish boy whose parents live in Tokonosu because of their work—but man, does he ever outshine anyone else when it comes to being the leadoff hitter. Frisk makes his way over to Ichiro's desk and crushes the now empty can in his hand; he places it on the desk behind him as he comes to a stop beside Ichiro.

Ichiro tends to ignore Frisk half of the time because the things he says just blur together with his accent. It's easier to figure out what he says by watching his gestures, but Ichiro can't be bothered to put in that much effort for someone beneath him.

The desk in front of his squeaks as the chair is pushed out, the owner being pulled away by a scrawny yet busty girl. Ichiro sneers at the sight of Pandora and Aza'zel together, already feeling the bile rise up to his throat. They always make it a point to make public displays of affection whenever they're within arm's reach of each other, and Ichiro finds it to be the most unfortunate thing in the world that his desk is right behind Aza'zel's. He hates them so much; who even let them into the school in the first place?

Aza'zel kisses the top of Pandora's hand as they stand in the middle of the row, and it's now that Ichiro decides to step in and stop them before he vomits all over his desk.

"Hey, freaks," he says loudly, gaining the attention of the entire class. Aza'zel freezes in place, head inclined towards Ichiro as though waiting for him to listen. Pandora's innocent smile becomes tight and annoyed, her gaze darkening as it moves to Ichiro. "Fuck off and take that gross shit somewhere else."

Pandora inhales deeply, looking about ready to retort something back at Ichiro; Aza'zel stops her, dragging her lightly out of the room and sliding the door shut behind him.

Frisk lets out a low whistle. "Shame you sit behind them every day," he observes.

"Shut the fuck up," Ichiro mutters angrily.

Activity in the classroom resumes, although each conversation holds a distinct level of discomfort attached to it. He catches several people glancing over at him nervously as they talk; even the boy and girl by the window look over at him, though unlike everyone else their gazes hold a pinch of disdain for the Japanese boy.

Who gives a damn about them, anyway? Ichiro did this classroom a favour by kicking out the freak shows.

Frisk nudges him on the shoulder playfully as one of the younger members of their team, Mori, wanders inside nervously. "Shame Lamia looks so creepy," he chuckles. "She's got a nice pair on her."

 _A pair_ , Ichiro thinks. He knows Frisk means the rather large breasts she supports despite her near-skeletal appearance, but Ichiro can't help but think about the pair of scars lining her cheeks. What do they call it again? A Chelsea smile? How does someone her age even get one of those? She's had the scars since she started attending school here, too—so when the hell did she find the time to have someone cut up her face into a smile?

He shudders and tells Frisk, "You have the most fucked up taste."

It isn't long before their group of three grows into five, and then Ichiro is leading them outside the classroom and towards the nearest vending machine. He feels like getting some kind of sandwich for lunch, though he isn't quite sure what he wants in it. Meat? Vegetables? Cheese? He'll have to decide once he gets there.

As they walk, Mori unwraps his own lunch and offers the boys a rice ball, explaining that his mother had packed extra. Frisk gladly takes one and launches into a rant about _something_ ; Ichiro has no care as to what the Swedish boy wants to talk about today. It turns out that Pandora and Aza'zel hadn't moved very far from the classroom, moving to the windows that give the third-year students a brilliant view of the courtyard between classes. Aza'zel idly plays with Pandora's hair while Pandora giggles and whispers things to him—Ichiro doesn't bother to listen to what she says either, knowing that they'd be the disgusting sweet nothings that couples tell each other.

He really does hate them. He's not even sure why—neither of them talk to him on a daily basis, and they haven't done anything to piss him off other than exist—but he just knows deep in his gut that he will never understand the two of them. It could be that his dislike of them comes from the rumours spread around the school; though then again, the he may dislike them because there's only rumours about them, never any facts.

Whispers in between classes and clubs always come up with the same things: _I hear Lamia had plastic surgery to make her tongue forked. Someone told me that they're government experiments, and Haruna High was their testing area. Apparently Vritra's hair changes hues because he got hold of an unreleased, untested hair dye._

 _Rumour has it they're both orphans. Rumour has it the school pitied them and kept them here to save money on extra staff members._

Rumour, rumour, rumour. That's all that ever goes around the school these days. All thanks to a brat in class 2-4.

His eyes drift towards the window beside the horrifying couple, to the numerous students eating and running around outside in the sun. Ichiro works his jaw as his focus zeroes in on three students in particular, that God awful mop of green hair clashing with a red flannel too hard to miss.

If it isn't his worst enemy, Chie Fujisaki. He's met a lot of pricks in his teenage years, but she may as well be a walking, talking cactus—complete with a God complex to rival his dad's. Beside her, listening as she points to different students in the courtyard, is yet another person Ichiro detests; though his reasons for disliking Ryuichi Hiroshi are more practical. Ryuichi is handsome, much like Ichiro, and excels at his chosen sport. The only difference between the two is the slight lead Ryuichi has on his grades compared to Ichiro, pulling in average grades with the occasional above-average score.

A hate born from jealousy, he likes to call it.

Another male student approaches them, one Ichiro doesn't recognise, and he hands Ryuichi a can of drink while cutting Chie off mid-sentence with a rather open, friendly smile. Ichiro doesn't care to know this boy's name, but he knows he'll have to keep an eye open for him if he's as close to Chie as Ryuichi appears to be at times.

Frisk is still talking, his Swedish accent making it hard for Ichiro to make out half of the words he says; he doesn't even pretend to have been listening to the older boy as he turns for the smallest of their group, Mori, and holds out a hand expectantly.

"Hand me one of your rice balls," Ichiro orders, glancing back down into the yard. Aza'zel, with his hand still stroking Pandora's mess of a hair, finally turns his head to Ichiro's group in curiosity. A few of his sharp teeth poke out against his bottom lip as they part curiously, as though Aza'zel wants to ask what Ichiro is doing.

Mori jumps and looks down at the two rice balls balanced in his hand with anxiety. "I—Uh." He glances between Ichiro and Aza'zel, and then follows Ichiro's gaze through the open window. "Ietaka, are you sure?"

Ichiro only flexes his fingers impatiently, making grabby-hands at the rice balls.

Aza'zel finally looks away from Ichiro and leans his head against the window he and Pandora occupy, letting his eye wander out into the courtyard. Chie still hasn't moved from the spot she's in, her back turned towards Ichiro and Aza'zel. The perfect target.

A light weight is set in his palm, much lighter than the baseballs he's used to pitching after school each day. Ichiro bounces it carefully in his hand, watching as the cold, white rice keeps its form upon landing.

"What's in it?" he demands.

"M—Mayonnaise."

Ichiro raises a brow at him. "Just mayonnaise? God, Mori, you're so fuckin' basic."

And with that, Ichiro lifts his leg, leans forward, and draws back his arm once his foot touches the ground once more. The rice ball soars through the air like a magnificent grain grenade, hurtling towards the bitch in the courtyard at the full speed of Ichiro's sinking fastball. Aza'zel watches as the rice ball descends with an expression of alarm, while Pandora's gleeful smile turns sickly sweet as her own eyes catch sight of Ichiro's target.

The rice ball makes contact. Ichiro's expression falls. A loud scream resounds throughout the courtyard. He'd missed his target—some _idiot_ jumped in front of Chie at the last second, earning a blast of boiled rice and mayonnaise to the eye.

As Aza'zel and Pandora watch the spectacle that unfolds in the courtyard, Ichiro breaks into a sprint for the boys' bathroom. Like hell he's getting blamed for this mess.

* * *

"I'm telling you," Chie goes on, pointing over at a group of girls whispering amongst themselves. Ryu recognises them as being from 2-1, members of the "elite" of the school's popular groups. Not that they're beyond the status of nameless lackeys for said "elite". "There is a cult in this school and I'm pretty sure crap I did last year kicked it into gear."

He looks over to the girls and tries to see anything remotely cult-like about them. They're all covered in fake spray tans and have extensions in their hair that make them look inherently unkempt, and the bright pink lipstick each one of them dons is absolutely gaudy.

Ryu squints at them as he groans in the back of his throat. "A _manba_ cult?" he mutters.

Chie slaps his arm. "No, you ass," she growls. "They don't have a set look, they just all happen to be connected to certain people."

"Certain... _manba_ people?"

"Ugh, never mind. Why do I even expect you to understand?"

Ryu shrugs and yawns, moving his attention away from the girls across the courtyard and back to the vending machine Andrew had left for earlier. The two had been craving drinks, having forgotten to bring their own bottles with them once again, and they'd pooled their change together in order to purchase something cheap. Ryu's never really been fussed when it comes to drinks—as long as what he's being given doesn't taste disgusting or make him sick, he's pretty fine with whatever.

Sure enough, in the time it had taken for Chie to give up with her cult theory, Andrew is returning to them with two identical cans of drink in his hands. They're green and covered in purple bubble images, the text hidden by Andrew's fingers as he avoids crashing into other students on his way back. Chie's voice hits Ryu's ears in a muffled state, her words lost on him as he yearns for whatever sugar-free drink he's about to have bestowed upon him.

Andrew is all smiles as he hands Ryu his drink, whatever comeback he announces ignored by the taller boy as he immediately cracks open the can. The taste of cantaloupe lines his tongue as he downs almost half of the can in one gulp.

An offended look is on Chie's face, probably from what Andrew had said to her, and Ryu takes the blissful silence as his chance to change the topic. "Thanks for the drink, Kim," he says. "We have enough?"

Andrew shakes his head with an apologetic look. "Nah, you were a little short," he admits. Before Ryu can so much as offer to pay him back, apologise for making him pay for his drink, Andrew holds up a hand to silence him. "Don't worry about paying me back, either. Friends have each others' backs, and I really don't mind pitching in a few yen for a drink."

Ryu frowns at him. He appreciates the favour, but he feels bad for not giving him enough change for his own drink. Ryu even has the yen needed in his wallet back in the classroom—it would've been no trouble to run in and give Andrew what he needed. Now he just feels like he's taken advantage of the smaller boy.

The message behind the frown doesn't pass Andrew by, his own relaxed smile taking on a hint of guilt. Andrew sighs to himself and playfully presses the edge of his own can against Ryu's forearm. Ryu recoils at the cold metal touching his skin, rubbing the arm on his back to warm it up again. "Just do me a favour in exchange for the change, then," Andrew says. "Stay out of trouble until the weekend."

Chie snorts as loudly as possible at the demand, earning a tired glare from Andrew. Andrew cracks open his drink and takes a large swig of it, crinkling his nose at that overpowering first sip.

"It's not like I go out looking for trouble," Ryu reasons. He looks pointedly at Chie as he says this, an unspoken, "Unlike some people," left in the air. Chie just raises a pierced brow at him and sticks out her tongue defiantly.

Andrew shrugs. "You don't have to do it," he points out. "Maybe just pay it forward later on and enjoy the semi-cheap drink, instead."

Chie rolls her eyes at the idea, mouthing to Andrew, " _Lame_." Andrew ignores her, watching Ryu for his decision. It's a tempting thought—Ryu isn't sure what Andrew would even want in return, and it's not like he's ever accepted money from people he's helped out in the past. He's pretty sure paying it forward wouldn't be something he'd have to do immediately, too.

He takes a sip of his drink. "Sure," he agrees. "I can be charitable somehow."

It doesn't take long for Andrew's attention to move to Chie, opening the can of worms that is her dislike of charitable actions. Chie launches into the rant to end all rants, her general argument being the same as what Ryu's heard countless times—charity results in losing your own profits, and whoever gets that attention has a chance of putting your hard-earned work to waste. Not a lot of students agree with the ideal; in fact, Ryu's pretty sure Chie's the person in the school to hold these views, her desire for a quick money grabbing scheme getting in the way of being a generally good person.

She becomes so absorbed in her rant that she barely even notices as someone sneaks up behind her. Ryu glances discreetly over Chie's shoulder at the student, catching a knowing grin on the small girl's face as she raises a finger to her lips. Ryu does his best to stop his lips from twitching into a smirk, turning his gaze back to Chie before she looks over at him next.

Bonnie's hands are raised, ready to grab Chie's shoulders as she screams something unorthodox at the older girl. Chie still suspects nothing as Bonnie gets closer and closer, but Andrew looks to have noticed their guest as well. He cracks a small smile as he nods along to Chie's points, taking them down as though he's getting ready to argue against them and turn their conversation into a debate.

At the very last second, just as Bonnie's hands are hovering over Chie's shoulders, something crashes into the girl's head at high speeds. A muted " _piff_ " is heard over the other students in the courtyard, cutting Chie off mid-sentence as the sound registers in her mind. She catches Andrew and Ryu watching over her shoulders in shock and horror, and ever so slowly pivots on her heel to see what had happened. Bonnie's expression is stuck in its giddy form, though her eyebrows twitch uncomfortably as her left eye slowly slides shut. She stands frozen on the spot as what looks to be boiled rice tangles and mixes into her hair; only a small portion is on her face, stuck around her eye with what appears to be mayonnaise.

Without so much as a breath of warning, Bonnie lets out a horrified scream. " _There's mayonnaise in my eye_!" she screeches.

Andrew drops his can and rushes to Bonnie's side, quickly picking a few bits of rice out of her hair as he tries to check her eye. Bonnie's cheerful expression drops and contorts childishly into that of pain and tears, her hands shaking back and forth as though she's flicking the rice and mayonnaise off of her fingers.

Anger flares in Ryu's gut as he directs his gaze up to the main building, searching for the source of the rice ball. He spots people from the top floor watching their group in amazement and horror—he doesn't miss the concerned look from one of the more feared third-years—before he finally catches sight of someone sprinting from window to window, watching as Andrew tends to Bonnie with a snarl.

It has to be him, Ryu thinks. Only the culprit would run away from the scene that fast. The fact that Ryu recognises the boy in question makes his assumption even more plausible.

"I'll be back," he says quickly. Before Chie can ask why, he drops his own can and sprints in the direction of the doors to the cafeteria.

Distantly he can hear Andrew call out to him, "Ryu, don't get into trouble!" He doesn't bother to argue back that Bonnie is the last person who deserves rice in her eyes.

He shoves aside students as he runs as fast as his legs take him, practically knocking down a small group of first-years when he bursts through the cafeteria doors. A teacher calls out to him to be more careful, but the warning falls on deaf ears. He moves for the stairs leading to the second floor, taking them two at a time, and speeds past the classrooms filled with students who wish to eat inside.

Friedrich is already exiting the staff room at the end of the hall, just by the stairs leading to the third floor, and a dejected look is on his face while he busily wipes his glasses with the hem of his shirt. Ryu barely has enough time to say hurriedly, " _Hi-Bye_ ," as he zooms past. He doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing the confused look on Friedrich's face, but the echoing shout of, "The fuck—!?" reaches Ryu as he takes the stairs leading to the third floor.

He trips over his own feet on the last step, just barely stopping himself from breaking his nose on the floor by tumbling into a roll and jumping to his feet just in front of Ichiro's classroom. Ryu breathes heavily as he looks to and fro for the boy, being met with the confused stares of a small handful of students sitting in the room.

"Where—" He cuts himself off as a loud wheeze escapes him. "Where did Ietaka go?"

One boy he recognises as being in the track team with Bonnie raises his brows in amusement. Ryu rakes the back of his mind for a name, but finds himself lost as the brunette boy replies condescendingly, "What's the matter? Did he steal your lunch money?"

Ryu shakes his head and slides the door shut in frustration. He should have expected better than to ask someone in Ichiro's class—they're all virtually the same breed of asshole when it comes down to it.

He turns on his heel and searches the hall for some sign of Ichiro's teammates, hoping to slam one against a wall and interrogate them before he loses Ichiro for the rest of the day. Barely any of them have remained, the only one left behind being a small, lanky boy from 2-6; Ryu's certain his name is Mori, remembers seeing him try out for the basketball team before settling for the baseball team.

There's movement in his peripheral vision. Ryu snaps his head to the right, hoping to see that it's Ichiro sprinting across the hall or _something_ that will let him give chase. He isn't met with the sight of a haughty, snobbish brat, but instead he finds himself looking down at the odd, glowing eyes of one of Chie's acquaintances. Aza'zel looks Ryu up and down with a hint of concern to his gaze, his sharp teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in consideration.

To hell with it, Ryu decides. He may as well try to see if Aza'zel knows something. Any witness is a witness nonetheless. "Do you know where Ietaka went?" he tries.

From behind Aza'zel, someone else peeks out and regards Ryu with what appears to be caution. All he can see is the mop of brightly dyed hair contrasting against her paper-white skin like a canvas, as well as the barest hints of scar-like lines running along her cheeks. The person behind Aza'zel must be Pandora, Ryu thinks; he remembers Chie describing her in a rather unsavoury way after the two had had a less than joyous encounter at the greenhouse.

"Should we tell him?" Pandora's voice comes out in a whisper, almost too soft for Ryu to hear. He finds it unbelievable that Chie had described her as shrill and annoying, hearing her speak now. "You looked really worried, babe."

One of Aza'zel's leather-clad hands reaches up and over his shoulder, fingers tangling affectionately in Pandora's hair. "I think we should, my darling," he responds, voice equally as soft. "If the direction he ran in was correct, Ietaka is most likely hiding in the men's bathroom. You'd best run after him before his lackey lets him know you're on your way."

Aza'zel's eyes flit over to where Mori had been standing, pushing Ryu's attention in the direction of the turn leading to the bathroom. Mori has disappeared altogether, but his panicked voice echoes down the hall as he screams to Ichiro to find a new hiding place.

Ryu thanks Aza'zel in a mad rush of words, almost speaking in tongues as he sprints after Mori. The stairs leading to the roof are visible as he turns the corner in search of the lanky student.

All at once, Ichiro sprints past Mori and runs for the stairs leading to the roof, cursing loudly as he spots Ryu running at full speed in his direction. He's closing the distance between them as Ichiro trips up the stairs, and then they're bursting out onto the roof and screaming at each other as countless students eating lunch turn to watch in horror.

Ichiro tries to manoeuvre his way around Ryu and run back into the school. Ryu is quick to put a stop to him, practically spear-tackling him into a group of girls sitting on a picnic blanket. The feeling of Ichiro's fist colliding with Ryu's face is hardly felt at first, and it isn't until Ryu feels his lip bottom lip split that he realises he's made a terrible mistake.

So much for staying out of trouble.

* * *

Her sandwich tastes trite and dry, but she refuses to let it show on her face. Her attention remains on the girls seated around her desk with their own boxes of lunch in front of them, looking much more appetizing than her own sandwich.

Aoi had been right about finding her during lunch—though she'd cornered the girl in their classroom instead of in the cafeteria, insisting that they have lunch with one of their classmates and catch up with each other properly. Haruhi can't tell if she's annoyed or relieved by the gesture, having already made plans on the gut instinct that Aoi wouldn't look for her, but at least the idle conversation the three girls are having isn't something that distracts Haruhi too much.

It's a small relief that Aoi had chosen Sooyeon Baek, otherwise known to their classmates as Jessica and one of the more intimidating girls in 2-1, to sit with during lunch. No one ever approaches her, even when she naps over her desk in the middle of study hall; having her around Haruhi is a quick way to avoid being approached by people, leaving her with a good half an hour of peace for once.

Aoi pokes at the rolled omelette in her lunch box, frowning at Haruhi's sandwich. "Hey," she starts. Jessica chews idly on one of the many sugar flowers hidden inside her own lunch as her big, brown eyes look lazily over to Aoi. "Are you guys going to the dance on Thursday?"

"I'll be going," Haruhi reports politely. "I was already asked, and it would be rude not to show up."

Jessica shrugs and pushes some of her hair behind her ear. The bracelet around her wrist flies around at the movement, allowing Haruhi to catch a glimpse of the name engraved upon it. Haruhi is fairly certain that she's heard someone in the first year floor being called by the name Solar, but the connection to Jessica is unknown to her; perhaps Jessica happens to have a relative named Solar, or even had a friend in the past by the name?

"I'm pretty sure I have to go," Jessica says. "The music teacher suggested I sing at the dance, and I think the school council approved it. I don't even know what I'd sing for something like this," she adds in a mumble.

Aoi gapes at the two of them, nervously twirling her finger around one of the curls of her blonde wig. Haruhi's not sure why she wears the wigs every day, changing her hair colour to suit the day of the week, but she must admit that it does provide a refreshing feeling to each morning in class.

Haruhi finishes the bite of her sandwich and asks the smaller girl, "Why'd you ask?"

"Well," Aoi sighs, "I still don't have anyone to go with. I think everyone I know already has a date."

That's all? God, what a trivial thing to worry about. "That's a shame," Haruhi notes. Jessica nods and nibbles on another sugar flower.

Aoi shakes her head and smacks her cheeks as though to clear her head. "Enough about that!" she demands. "Who asked you, Kasagawa? I'm dying to know who managed to snag Snow White."

Haruhi's nose twitches at the nickname. Snow White—a name she didn't come up with, bestowed upon her for her pale skin and dark hair; the literal description of a traditional Snow White character. _Hair as black as ebony. Skin as white as snow._ It's not a name she's fond of, but her friends insist on calling her that. Why can't they just call her Haru or something?

"I saw you talking to Fujisaki this morning," Jessica supplies. "It's not her, is it?"

Aoi's bright smile falters for a whole second, but she recovers and says, "Oh, come on, Jessica! You know Fujisaki doesn't like most people—she was probably just trying to take a direct approach in getting information on Kasagawa."

"She was," Haruhi announces. "And it's not her that asked me. Ietaka asked me to go."

Jessica chokes on one of her sugar flowers. Aoi's jaw drops as her eyes grow to the size of saucers.

"What?" Haruhi says.

" _Him_?" Jessica wheezes.

"Yes, him. He was very polite about it." He was the farthest thing from polite. Ichiro literally walked up to her and said they were going together; no questions were asked, only a demand that she didn't have time to refuse.

"He's very, erm—" Aoi smiles nervously. "—a _brasive_ , don't you think?"

"Abrasive" is too kind a word to describe Ichiro Ietaka. "He's alright," she lies. "He's just really image-focused."

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders tightly, and Haruhi almost flies out of her seat in alarm. Jessica stares her down sternly, her pretty face contorted into a look of disgust. "Kasagawa," she says lowly. "I would rather go to a Daddy-Daughter Dance than go to a formal dance with Ietaka. That's how bad the guy is."

The words fly out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "Yes, but unlike you, I actually hold some degree of love towards my father. Besides, it's not like he asked _you_ to go with him. Why should you care?"

Haruhi clamps her hands over her mouth in horror. For crying out loud, how did she not filter that in any way? She could've said _anything_ other than that! _"He's not_ that _bad."—"Luckily for you, you're not the one going with him."—"It's only for one night."_

Jessica's expression slowly falls into her signature sneer, angered by Haruhi's dismissal. _I've gone and done it now,_ she thinks in a panic.

The door to their class slams open. All eyes shift to whoever had violently intruded on their lunches. Before Haruhi can so much as get a look at the student, a male voice screeches, " _There's a fight on the roof_!"

Students sprint past the classroom, some from the first year classes and some having come from their lunch areas outside. Haruhi watches in amazement as some of 2-1's students rush for the doors and follow suit, hollering about who could be fighting each other.

Aoi stands up quickly and says, "Let's go check it out!"

She barely gets any time to refuse, her hand being clasped tightly by Aoi's as the smaller girl drags her out of her seat. Jessica releases her grip on Haruhi's shoulders. Haruhi watches as she pushes her lunch box away from her and leans forward on the desk; she's assuming her sleeping position, it seems.

"You two go ahead," Jessica sighs. "I'll catch some Z's while the classroom's quiet."

Aoi apparently doesn't need much more confirmation than that, her vice-like grip on Haruhi's wrist tightening as she drags her out of the class. It's surprisingly easy to get to the roof, considering how many people are running in the direction of it; Haruhi counts a total of two minutes of running and stopping at stairways, being shoved into the slowly congesting group of students surrounding the two fighters on the roof.

She's being shoved to and fro by students trying to get a better look. It's pretty easy to Haruhi to lose sight of Aoi after the first few seconds, and then she's blocking her ears as the shouts and hollers of excited students fill her ears. She thinks she might get a headache.

One boy pushes past her, his lips moving to form an apology as he does so, and suddenly she finds an opening to move forward through. She follows him until she can see the fight—who's in it, who's winning—through the crowd, and then she remains in her spot in the hopes that no one knocks her over.

She lets out an appalled sound when she catches sight of Ichiro first, disgusted by the behaviour. She takes back every lie she said about him being _image-focused_. He's an idiot. A brutal, violent idiot. Blocking his punches and trying to throw back a few of their own is another male student—Haruhi thinks she recognises him. Ryuichi Hiroshi, the ace of the basketball team. She's been to a few of his games before; she never thought he'd be the type to get involved in fights, though.

The crowd chants for the boy they want to win, letting out resounding "oohs" and "ahs" with each blow the two deliver. This is absolutely barbaric, she thinks. Why didn't she stop Aoi? Why didn't she decide to stay behind and apologise to Jessica for being rude?

Another boy breaks through the crowd and yells at the two to stop fighting. Only Ryuichi pauses, seeming to recognises the dark-haired teen, and Ichiro takes advantage of this to throw a powerful right hook straight at Ryuichi's jaw. The third boy yelps and runs between them, violently shoving the boys away from each other and yelling at the top of his lungs at them.

Haruhi thinks she recognises the boy who steps between them, his hands thrown out against their chests to keep them both at an arm's length from each other. She could swear he's the one who pushed past her and gave her to opening to see the fight.

Over the shouts of the crowd, she hears him demand of the fighting teens, "Enough of this! You're both making the situation worse!"

Ichiro sneers at the boy. "That fucker started it!" he yells back. Half of the crowd lets out a low "boo" sound, though Haruhi isn't sure why.

"Ietaka, please," the dark-haired boy begs. "Don't let your hubris get the better of you."

He turns to Ryuichi then, asking in a quieter tone if the boy is okay. Ryuichi wipes at his nose and nods without a word, gaze locked on the ground in shame. He looks almost remorseful over getting involved in the fight, Haruhi thinks.

Ichiro spits at the ground in defiance. "Stay the fuck out of this, choir boy!" he yells. Before anyone else can so much as react, Ichiro charges forward and raises his fist—fully intending to hit the smaller teen in the back of the head.

Haruhi's heart leaps into her throat. _A blow like that could kill him_. She opens her mouth to scream for Ichiro to stop, for the dark-haired boy to watch out, but Ryuichi beats her to the punch line as he yells in alarm, "Andrew!"

The boy—Andrew—glances over his shoulder just enough to see Ichiro's blow coming at him. Haruhi covers her eyes with her hands in fear, scared for what will happen if he doesn't duck. She expects to hear some kind of thump, some kind of eerie silence from the crowd at the blow; but instead, the crowd only hollers even louder. She hears coughing, like someone's choking on their own breath, and when she peeks through her fingers she finds herself surprised by the sight before her.

Andrew kneels on top of Ichiro, one of Ichiro's arms held tight in his grip as it twists painfully behind the taller boy's back. One knee digs into Ichiro's lower back, holding him in place, while Ichiro claws at the ground between him and Ryuichi and coughs frantically in between frustrated screams.

How on Earth did Andrew manage that? There had barely been enough time between spotting Ichiro's fist and realising where it was aimed for; it almost seems like some kind of superhuman feat!

"What in the world is going on here?" a man's voice bellows over the students. Everyone falls silent at once, heads turning to find the source of the voice. One side of the crowd parts and Haruhi manages to spot a teacher pushing his way through. She thinks it might be the English teacher for the third-years, but she can't say for sure; she hasn't seen him around enough to know.

He breaks through the students and makes it to the trio on the ground. The look on his face is quite possibly the same as what Haruhi had made upon seeing Ichiro in the fight.

"Sir," Andrew starts immediately. "Please help me separate them."

The teacher throws his arms up in the air and lets out a frustrated growl. He looks to the students gathered around and bellows, "Everyone back to your classrooms, _now_!"

They take longer to disperse than they had to gather, let down that the fight had been stopped before it could get even more out of hand. Haruhi finds herself granted more and more wiggling room as they brush past her, finally able to breathe easy now that she can see the roof a little better.

Before she leaves—before Aoi finds her and drags her away to talk about the fight—Haruhi storms over to Andrew and Ichiro. She comes to a stop right in front of Ichiro, her foot stomping on the ground once to get his attention. Andrew looks up at her in alarm, unsure of what she's about to do, while Ichiro stares up with a snarl.

"Find a new date for Thursday," she tells him. "I don't want to be seen with a brute."

All she hears as she follows the other students back inside is the angered shouts of Ichiro, calling her every name under the sun.

* * *

The fact that they didn't even give him an ice pack for the slowly colouring bruises on his face speaks levels of how much the school favours the mayor's son. Ryu would click his tongue in distaste if it didn't hurt the inside of his cheek, which had no doubt been cut against his teeth when Ichiro sucker punched him in the jaw.

Ichiro is still in the principal's office, arguing away and demanding his father be called right this instant, and Ryu has been left to sit in the waiting area and watch the clock on the wall across from him. He has no doubt he'll be facing a suspension—probably a week? Or maybe just a few days?—and Ichiro will be able to return to classes without so much as a worry in his mind. Students have come in and out of the office since they'd arrived in the middle of lunch, most notably Aza'zel Vritra—a classmate of Ichiro's and the student who so happens to live on the school's campus, within the greenhouse behind the main building. They've all probably given their own accounts of what had transpired before the fight broke out, and Ryu can only pray that someone had seen the rice ball leave Ichiro's hand and fly towards Bonnie's head.

Ryu sinks into the couch and sighs deeply, grinding his teeth in frustration. On top of the whole fight and Bonnie getting hit by a rice ball, Andrew and Ryu really screwed up in front of everyone. While the two are close friends and rather familiar with each other, comfortable enough to call each other by a nickname or first name, there is concern that their classmates will find their relationship fishy. Andrew is a star student, having a shining reputation and being the first to volunteer for everything, while Ryu is viewed by almost everyone as a delinquent who's only still attending school thanks to his basketball skills; if someone hears a delinquent call out a person like Andrew's name, rumours start to fly. "Hiroshi is corrupting Kim," and, "He's probably bullying the poor boy," would run amok in the schoolyard, and not even Chie would be able to set them right—the girl feeds off of negativity and chaos, she wouldn't even _want_ to set them right.

They'd decided—begrudgingly, on Andrew's part—that it would be better for Andrew's reputation if he wasn't known for being close to Ryu in any particular way. It would be easier if the two appeared to have more of a classmate-level relationship to the rest of the school. He supposes there's no sense in keeping it up now, though; not only had Ryu messed up by using Andrew's first name in front of a crowd of spectators during that fight, but Andrew had practically done the same while Ryu had sprinted off in search of Ichiro.

He stares up at the ceiling in distaste. Man, they really suck at keeping something like this under the radar. It should've been expected, though; they hang out in quiet areas a lot, and they've studied together whenever Ryu stayed behind after school to practice basketball moves. If anything, them slipping up was an accident waiting to happen.

The other side of the couch dips suddenly, frightening Ryu from his thoughts. His legs kick out in surprise as his heart beats wildly in his chest. It takes a good few seconds to figure out what had just happened—who had taken a seat beside him—and when he does he feels almost silly for being alarmed.

"What are you doing here?" Ryu asks. The smaller boy lets his head fall onto Ryu's shoulder, his mismatched eyes half-lidded as he lazily holds up a note. Ryu reads over it quickly, frowning at the contents.

 _Tristan Bonheur is to be sent to the principal's office to discuss his refusal to cooperate during class.  
—Homura_

It's not a common thing to see Tristan in the waiting room of the front office; he rarely gets into trouble, and if anything he's sent to the infirmary more than anywhere else. Tristan folds the note in half and tucks it into the pocket of his blue hooded jacket.

"I had a substitute teacher today," he explains. His voice is that usual tired monotone; Ryu is almost convinced the pale boy will fall asleep mid-sentence. "He didn't believe me when I said I'm anaemic. After I fell asleep the third time, he sent me here."

Ryu sighs deeply. "Sucks," he comments. Tristan hums in agreement.

"Why're you here, _As_?" he adds. "Your face looks like it made friends with a sledgehammer."

Ryu cringes at the mental image, only to wince as the cut on the inside of his cheek rubs against his teeth. "I got into a fight," he mumbles.

"With who?"

A loud yell comes from further in the office, most likely from the principal's room. It sounds like Ichiro is yelling at his dad over the phone, going by the rant he's launched into.

Tristan's brows rise in understanding. "Ah," he says quietly. " _Gosse_ , then."

"Yeah," Ryu sighs. "He threw a rice ball at Chie, but it hit Bonnie instead. There was mayonnaise in her eye, last I saw her."

"That's unfortunate. When they send me away, would you like me to check the infirmary for her?"

Ryu shakes his head. "Nah, Andrew took her there. He'll let me know how it went later—or tomorrow."

Tristan nods and leans his weight against Ryu, suggesting that he's just about ready to fall asleep on the spot. This wouldn't be the first time it's happened while they talked about things; Tristan's usually pretty tired or bored whenever he and Ryu hang out, and more often than not he uses the taller boy as a makeshift pillow until they're required to go back to classes.

He soon proves to just be resting his eyes, however, as he immediately sits up straight once one of the attendants stands at the bench and calls for Tristan to present his note. He pulls it from his pocket and slides it over to the smartly-dressed woman.

"Good grief," she announces. "Did no one tell Homura that you're anaemic?"

Tristan shakes his head. "I think Auntie forgot to tell him this morning," he reports.

The blonde woman shakes her head and scrunches up the note into a ball, chucking it into the small bin underneath the bench. "You can go back to class, Bonheur— Actually, no, it might be better for you to rest in the infirmary for a while. I'll let Ms. DuBois know you're there and have her talk to Mr. Homura."

He nods back at her and moves to leave for the infirmary, but Ryu catches a small pause in his footsteps before he turns back around to ask the woman, "May I also have an ice pack? It will help keep me awake while I walk over."

"Oh, of course!" She ducks underneath the desk and rummages around for a few seconds, and then she's handing Tristan a cold, squishy blue bag wrapped in a thin fabric.

Ryu watches as the woman moves back to her desk and sits down in her chair, phone in her hand as she hurriedly dials what he assumes is Ms. DuBois's number. He wishes it'd been that easy to get an ice pack himself, but he knows Ichiro will do everything in his power to make sure Ryu suffers through swelling and bruises.

Tristan walks over to Ryu and holds the ice pack out to him, barely even saying a word to the taller boy. Ryu stares at the blue pack sceptically. "Isn't that yours?" he says.

Without warning, Tristan smacks the ice pack onto Ryu's face. Ryu falls onto the couch fully and hisses at the force of the impact, but soon finds relief as the cold pack numbs his cheek within seconds.

"Good luck not getting expelled," Tristan says as he resumes his walk to the infirmary.

* * *

 **Next hint for the Fool's identity! (I'll be listing them in full so that way they can be easily remembered without scrolling through previous chapters)  
**

1: The Fool is a female student.  
2: The Fool was one of the members of the group who wanted to look for their families.

 **Also, since I feel like being generous and because I want to make it an added puzzle for who the eventual living antagonist will be, I'll give you guys a hint for them as well:**

1: The Antagonist is from class 2-1.

 **Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!**


	4. 03: Guardians

**_just take my shame while i hide under the bed bc im really unhappy with this_**

 ** _also more notes at the bottom of the chapter_**

* * *

It's a nice surprise, having Eden offer to walk home with her after club activities finish up. Under normal circumstances the offer would be seen as something mundane and expected of someone their age—but considering the tiresome distance between Lindiwe's apartment and the school, along with Eden's generally salty behaviour, the occasion feels just a tad more special to her.

The plastic crate is light in her arms, the empty bottles barely putting any weight on her muscles. After doing this for so long, Lindiwe isn't surprised that her upper-body strength has skyrocketed. She's just a little worried that Eden won't be able to keep up with her, or even carry as much water with him. Lindiwe really should give him more credit, but the weight of all the water is nothing to laugh at.

Eden waits patiently by the school's gate, tapping away at his phone with furrowed brows. He pushes out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes, hitting the home button on the bottom of the phone. She figures he must've lost whatever game he was playing as he pockets the device, finally looking up to see her approaching.

"Took your time, Lina," he complains, but she knows he's not going to get on her case about it. He never does.

Lindiwe shakes her head at him and fixes the position of the tote bag over her shoulder. While Lindiwe will be carrying the crate, she's decided to have Eden help her take extra water home today and keep it secure in the tote bag. Not too heavy, but still heavy enough to build up his muscle strength.

"I had to get more bottles," she says. Eden sneers at the tote bag and crate, but doesn't comment on it. "We can fill the bottles up at a tap on the way. Should only take ten minutes."

It'll take longer. He doesn't need to know that.

Eden makes a show of rolling his eyes at the request as he drags himself over to her side, holding out a hand for the tote bag. She shrugs it off and passes it to him with a grin.

The usual area she goes to get the water isn't very far from the school, being attached to a public building and advertised as an open source for anyone passing by. People tend to stare at her when she collects water from there, but the owners of the building have yet to shoo her away. She walks ahead of Eden as they begin their hour-long walk to her apartment.

"Why do you even do this every day?" he demands, pulling one of the bottles out of the bag. It's a large one, being one of the few that carries two litres. The rest are only a little bit smaller.

Lindiwe shrugs. "No reason," she says. "Just a little short on the water bill. Better to get my own than pay an arm and a leg for something that'll cost more if the taps leak."

Eden scrunches up his nose at her. "Are you telling me you don't shower?"

"I bathe. It's easy enough to heat the water without a hot water system."

He rolls his eyes and sighs, though it's not as exaggerated as before. It's more like an exasperated amount of concern, like he can't believe she's putting up with such a scenario. Lindiwe has to hold herself back from reassuring him that life in South Africa wasn't as different, it not a little bit more luxurious (after all, her father's business is quite well off even without her help).

"I could always give you a hand," he starts. Lindiwe groans loudly. "No, shut up. I _can_. My aunt's loaded, and it's not like she spends it on anything. She won't notice a few hundred-thousand yen go missing every fortnight."

" _Iqhwa_ ," she says sternly. She always calls him that whenever they're alone, or even when Lindiwe refers to him in conversation, but her tone is different from usual. It's her trademark tone of warning, heard only by the most notorious of students in their school when she happens upon their illicit activities. The tone is one of command and exhaustion, hinting that the topic is to be dropped before her patience is.

Eden frowns at her, bristling as he picks up his pace to overtake her. He doesn't like being told not to do something, but Lindiwe doesn't want to make him go through the trouble. She manages fine with what she has—no reason for him to worry so much.

Lindiwe exhales slowly and decides to make an attempt at changing the subject. "Did you hear what happened after the fight today?" she asks him.

Eden is quick to scoff. "No," he spits. "After _your_ classmate came back, all I know is that a few people were sent home early from school. Besides, who cares about a dick fight during school?"

"I'm worried," Lindiwe confesses. Eden's pace slows, once again matching her own. "That second-year looked really worried when he came into the class. _You_ mocked him—and you're not even in the class. That was rude of you, by the way."

"Whatever," he huffs. "He should consider himself lucky I even spoke to him at all."

She'll never understand why he's got such a big ego. Maybe she'll have to ask him one day—not that he'd tell her, knowing her luck.

They're close to the tap she'd mentioned, spotting it just a short distance through the street, and Lindiwe immediately picks up her pace to get there first. She really wants to get these bottles filled up before someone else gets to the tap.

Eden only watches as she weaves past other students coming out of their own schools. He doesn't offer any comment on her sudden change of pace or her hurried movements to get the first bottle's cap open. The orange cap bounces against the ground once before she catches it again, and then she's balancing it between her lips as she holds the bottle steady under the tap.

By the time Eden arrives by her side, setting down the tote bag with a frown, two of her bottles have been filled up. Lindiwe places them back into the crate with careful arrangement while one of Eden's own bottles falls out of his bag.

Midway through filling up her third bottle, Eden leans against the wall beside them and lets out a small whine.

"So what's that mean, anyway?" he blurts out.

"What does what mean?" She puts the third bottle back into the crate.

"That _thing_ you called me. Is it Zulu or something?"

Lindiwe nods with pride. "I call you _iqwha_ because you're cold," she tells him. "It's a word we use for snow and ice."

Eden scrunches up his nose in distaste as she begins filling up her fourth bottle.

"I'm not cold," he whines. "I'm the nicest person you'll ever meet. I tell you things people won't ever tell you. I tell the truth; I make you aware of your obvious flaws while others would rather not say a thing." He lifts his hand up and inspects his nails impatiently. "If that's not sincere then I don't know what is."

"Hand me one of your bottles," Lindiwe sighs. She packs away the fourth one as he fishes out one of the smaller bottles, handing it to her without another word. He watches as it fills up in under a minute, and then hands her another one when it's full. "We still doing our game plan for Thursday?"

He lets out a loud scoff. "Um, yes? I don't know about you, but I want to get laid this week."

She watches as he packs away the two bottles, and then resumes filling up her large ones again. She's only got a few left, she reckons, and then they'll be ready to go home. Maybe it will take around ten minutes, she thinks.

"I just want to have fun," she says. "What you do with your guy is none of my business. That reminds me, too—who do you have in mind?"

He sighs. "There's not a lot to pick from. I could always go for Hiroshi, but I'm pretty sure he's straight. Kim is too tightly-wound for me to even consider liking. I'm definitely not going to Bonheur, the shit hole—"

"What'd he ever do to you?"

Eden lets out a loud, bitter laugh. "Look me in the eye and tell me you'd be comfortable talking to a boy who's as white as me."

He's got a point there, she thinks, but she still likes to believe she can play his wingman regardless of who he picks. It's not her fault she's wary of white people; she's just not used to being around them.

"I think I'll just wing it when I get there. Make my decision based on who's best dressed or something. You're fine with that, right?"

"Yeah." She nods. "That's fine."

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, swapping bottles and making a dent in their goal, before Eden adds, "You picked one yet?"

"One what?"

"A girl for Thursday."

"Oh..." In truth, she hasn't quite picked a girl she wants to have some chance of flirting with. There's a lot of pretty girls in their school, some of them in relationships, and she's certainly had her fair share of crushes. There's one that sticks out above the rest when she thinks about them, but she knows that Eden won't help her with this particular girl. "I'm still thinking."

He nods in understanding and heaves out a sigh. Neither of them says another word until they're down to the last few bottles; by that point, almost all of the people in the public space have left to go home, either to prepare dinner or finish off work.

In the hopes of keeping conversation alive, Lindiwe clears her throat and asks, "So how's your aunt?"

Eden bristles again at her question, shooting her an icy glare. Lindiwe laughs nervously—of course that's a sore subject. He never says anything good about her, so why would he want to talk about her now?

"How're your parents?" he says back, more than obviously dodging her question.

She shrugs. "Papa's been fine," she tells him. "Says the business is still doing well and that Mama wishes me well. He even sent a photo of Granma this time—she's looking well."

He hums in disinterest, but she knows he's taking in every word and committing them to memory. Neither of them talk about their family often, but Lindiwe does enjoy telling him about life with her own parents whenever he asks. She feels like he's allowing himself to learn something new about her and get to know her better. Admitting this to him would end up embarrassing him, though; it's better to keep this thought to herself.

She wonders if he'd ever consider taking a vacation to South Africa when school ends and spending time with her family. It'd certainly be better than whatever he's putting up with in his own home, she thinks.

"Last bottle," he announces, handing her the largest one from his bag. She thanks him and begins to fill the bottle with a small smile, thoughts of their imaginary vacation bringing a light-hearted feeling to her chest.

She can just see Eden being a mannequin for Nkanyezi as the older man sticks pins through fabric, the two discussing what pattern would look best with what colours; she can see Jabulile asking Eden to help her hang up their washing outside, the boy towering over her like it's the most natural thing in the world; most of all, she can see Khethiwe pinching Eden's cheeks and telling him to stop being so bitter, to help her carry the pots she's made that day, to help the old woman with tending to the children near their home.

He'd fit in nicely, she thinks, and she knows he'd say the same.

* * *

"Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Chisaki." Kiyo scratches the back of his head as a yawn escapes him. He's been working a lot of shifts behind the bar both this week and the last, and the extra work is starting to catch up with him.

Chie shrugs and drapes her flannel over her arm, doing her best to cover the birthmark on her wrist. Work doesn't let her wear her bandana over it, and she doesn't own any watches to put it the arm. She really needs to invest in one. "It's fine. Extra hours means extra money," she says. "Shame that Fuwa didn't call ahead of time, though. I would've come in earlier."

Not that she'd make it without skipping the last class of the day, but she can survive not learning French for one day. Besides, Ms. DuBois is a little too passionate about being and teaching French.

The door to the small staffroom opens ever so slightly. It's the room where most of the lockers are placed, mostly for convenience if the hosts need to freshen up a bit before seeing customers. Chie uses the staffroom to change into her uniform, though it's usually not until everyone else has left the room. One of the hosts peeks into the room with a sly grin, his bleached blond hair practically shining due to the amount of gel he's got applied to it.

He's one of the more popular hosts; Wakatsuki, though his clients call him Tsukki for short. Chie always cringes whenever she hears them call him that.

"Hey, hey, Chisaki," Wakatsuki coos. She hates it when he takes that tone of voice with her. He's the only one who teases her while she works, and it's an endless annoyance; why can't he just treat her as a co-worker instead of some deluded idea of a friend? "Your boyfriend's here to walk you home."

She squints at him. "My what?"

"Kiyo, you wouldn't believe how tall he is," Wakatsuki goes on, ignoring Chie. She grinds her teeth impatiently as he prattles on about her apparent boyfriend, giving her more and more of a clue just who he's talking about. "He's like one of those athletes you see on TV who tower over everyone. Definitely the right amount of intimidating for our little Chisaki."

God damn it, she knows who it is. "Don't you have clients to tend to?" she growls. Wakatsuki pokes his tongue out at her and quickly shuts the door as he leaves. "God, I hate him."

Kiyo pats her shoulder and sighs. "He means well. Guy's gotta find _some_ kind of fun working here—even if it's irritating you."

"And pandering to wealthy women isn't fun?" Chie rolls her eyes as she strolls over to the door. "That's bull and you know it."

Kiyo gives up trying to defend Wakatsuki, heaving out a sigh as Chie leaves the staffroom. The interior of the host club—aptly named _The Labyrinth_ —is like a gigantic, fancy maze. The ceiling is visible over the hedge-like walls, the different themes of each "dead end" hanging from it like chandeliers. She'll never understand the appeal of walking through a cement maze and happening upon a host during a wrong turn, but to each their own she supposes.

At least when she delivers drinks, she gets a chance to make the visit awkward for someone who knows her. Ms. Smith certainly looked flustered when Chie delivered the bottle of champagne tonight; there's no doubt in her mind that the grade for her English class will shoot up a level or two tomorrow.

The elevator ride up is short and uneventful. Irie, the woman who runs the elevator, barely says a word to Chie—which is just the way both of them like it. They exchange nods as Chie walks back out into the lobby, and then it's only a few steps until she's at the front door of their humble establishment.

As expected, based on Wakatsuki's description of him, Ryu waits for her by the front gates of the building. He's sipping from a can as he watches the street light in front of him; it flickers every so often, but otherwise burns brightly above him.

Chie shrugs on her flannel as she approaches him, frowning at the extra can held in what she'd assumed was his free hand. Judging from the brown decals covering the cans, she can only guess that it's coffee.

Ryu doesn't notice her approaching until she clears her throat loudly. His head moves very lazily to face her, a bored expression on his face as he takes another sip of his coffee.

"You're out," he says. She bites back the urge to mock his blaringly obvious observation. "Got you coffee."

He waves the can in front of her. Chie snatches it from him and scowls.

"Why are you here?" she demands. "I didn't ask you to come."

He shrugs. "I was bored. I also didn't wanna go home, so I just came to walk you home once I finished playing basketball with the college kids."

Ryu probably doesn't want to go home because of the suspension he got today. While it's only a one-day suspension, as well as being sent home early, Chie imagines that his mother would worry to no end about how he ended up getting it.

She cracks open the can and sighs at him. "You do realise not going home makes your mom worry more, right?"

"I know. But it'll be easier to tell her the technicality over the phone." Ryu turns on his heel and looks back at her, signalling that he wants to start walking before it gets any later. "That reminds me—can I crash at your place tonight? I feel like I'll be lectured by Andrew if I stay at his, and I'm pretty sure Ms. DuBois will make staying at Tristan's awkward."

Chie chugs her coffee as quickly as possible, almost cringing at the taste of it. She can't stand these canned coffees. "You should've gone anyway," she wheezes, wiping her lips. "I need dirt on Bonheur."

"No."

She reaches his side quickly, dumping the can in a nearby bin. "Why not? I'd pay you handsomely."

"Even if the money was attractive and open for a date, I still wouldn't go undercover for you." Ryu shrugs lazily, sipping at his own coffee again. "The guy probably wants his privacy. Is that so bad?"

" _Yes_."

"You're incorrigible."

"And you're unreliable."

He hums once. "Probably. How as work?"

Chie smirks and tucks her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Work was great, if Wakatsuki isn't added into the mix. "Keep an eye on my scores for English class this week," she boasts. "I'm sure Ms. Smith is feeling _very_ generous after tonight."

"Well," he says, a distracted lilt to his voice, "that's nice... Probably..."

Ryu slows his walk just a little bit more until he finally comes to a complete halt. She really wishes she hadn't—they aren't even past the street where the nightclubs are present, overshadowing the building that hides _The Labyrinth_ beneath it. Numerous neon signs flash on and off, the barely-audible thumping of musing emanating through the windows.

Chie's never liked this street, though for more personal reasons than practical. She couldn't give a damn who decides to drink and party the night away on a weekday, or the gaudy outfits and weird hairstyles. She's more worried about the potential shanking that comes with running into one particular worker at this time of night.

"Hurry it up," she growls at Ryu, kicking his heel. He doesn't move, eyes darting back and forth as though scanning the crowds gathered around each building.

His gaze rests on one night club in particular, sending a chill down her spine once she recognises the name. _Lucifer's Domain_ —Pandora's workplace and Aza'zel's haunting grounds. As she follows his gaze, she spots the wild mop of rainbow hair resting against one of the dark tinted windows.

Pandora's out getting fresh air it seems, forehead covered in a layer of sweat and water bottle held in one hand. Around her neck is that impossibly long necklace, still covered in jewels that Chie would give anything to slip over to Ambrogio De Vitis to assess the worth of. Her own eyes have been glued to Ryu and Chie for Lord knows how long, that creepy, sickly sweet smile ever present on her face.

Ryu waves to Pandora slowly, expression neutral; Pandora tips her water bottle to him in response, returning his greeting.

"I'm leaving without you," Chie announces. She sidesteps him and storms off for a short few seconds before he finally strides back over to her side.

"You're not _scared_ of Lamia, are you?" he teases.

"I'm not!" she insists. "I'm scared of being stabbed for no reason whatsoever! There's a difference."

He lets out a sceptical hum and shrugs at her.

Their walk soon after turns into a very quiet affair, the only sounds made being small hums from Ryu each time they cross the road or turn into a new street. This is probably the first time he's walked home from work with Chie—usually they only ever walk as far as Hitomi's restaurant, and then Ryu gets picked up by one of his parents while Hitomi and Chie drive home.

A loud revving sound comes from behind them once they turn onto another street. Ryu jumps in surprise while Chie sighs deeply. It's a Monday night. Who the hell is being an asshole on a Monday night?

They both turn ever so slightly to see who's making a ruckus in the middle of the street. To Chie's surprise, it's not the muscle car she half-expected to see. Her childhood in Alaska had a staggering amount of them driving up and down the streets of her neighbourhood, disrupting the peace and pushing her mother to file many complaints to the local council. She's not even sure if Japan seels them, now that she thinks about it. The car is instead a shiny, black Lamborghini; polished to perfection and looking as though it had just been driven straight out of the store.

Who the hell drives a Lamborghini out in the middle of a street like this?

The driver is moving at a rather slow pace, going _way_ under the speed limit as Chie and Ryu stop to stare in disbelief at them. At the rate they're going, they'd get to their destination long after Ryu and Chie would.

The Lamborghini pulls up beside them, coming to a complete halt as Chie and Ryu watch cautiously. She's more than certain she's seen the car before. The ideas running through the back of her mind don't give her any sense of relief, knowing who it might be.

The passenger side window rolls down, and then someone is leaning across the centre console. They're met with a stern, masculine face staring them down with scrutinous eyes; Chie's hopes drown in her internal screams as Ryu glances at her uncertainly.

"Chai Tea!" The stern face morphs into that of joking glee, the man suddenly looking younger than before. "What are you doing out so late?"

She hates life.

"Good evening, Mr. Baker," she sighs. Ryu's eyes bulge in shock as he looks between the two. "Fancy running into you. Can we help you with anything?"

Ted Baker, the man-child disguised as a sharp businessman in a suit, is the father of Bonnie Baker and an unfortunate acquaintance in Chie's daily life. This is probably Ryu's first time meeting him, she thinks, and she can't imagine it ending well.

"Actually, yes," Ted says pitifully. "See, I've lost my dog and I need some help finding him. Care to hop in and help me look for Ol' Scrappy?"

Chie grabs Ryu's arm and drags him away from the car. They only make it a few steps away from Ted before he catches up to them and begs them to stop. "I didn't mean it!" he cries. "I was kidding around, I swear!"

" _You disgust me_." She does stop walking, though. Clearly he'd want something if he decided to stop by them so suddenly.

"Your old man said the same thing to me in court last year." He says it fondly, but Chie knows why Isamu would say it; Ted literally disgusts him, right down to his childish attitude. It's amazing he even runs his business with the efficiency he does. "Back on track, though. I was wondering if you kids needed a ride home—it's pretty late, and the streets are dangerous."

"I'd appreciate a ride home," Ryu mutters. Chie elbows him in the gut.

"What's the catch?" she demands.

Ted waves a hand dismissively, beaming at the teens. "No catch, I swear. Consider it a friendly gesture from a family friend."

A friendly gesture. From anyone else, it'd be suspicious. From the genetic supply of Bonnie Baker, though, Chie knows that he's at least being honest. That just makes it all the more horrible, in her opinion.

"Fine," Chie sighs. Ted beams up at the two teens in glee. Chie pushes Ryu in the direction of the back door, reaching for the passenger door as she does so. "You're not coming in my house, though—Hitomi is more than enough happy-go-lucky for one night."

Ted salutes lazily as the teens buckle up in their respective seats, agreeing with Chie's terms as he turns the car back in the direction of her house. It's usually a bit of a walk from Chie's work to her aunt's home, but in a car like Ted's on an empty road, going at a rather leisurely pace, they'll be on time for dinner.

This isn't a very unusual occurrence, actually. Seeing Ted on the street, that is—the man's rather social and sticks to Chie's family like glue, and a lot of his work takes place at night. If she were some kind of idiotic, Bonnie-like teen, she'd go so far as to refer to him as Uncle Ted due to how familiar they are with each other. But she's not.

Chie would go so far as to say she loathes Ted Baker and the freakishly happy spawn he created with his wife. She can't stand how elated and oblivious they are all the time, getting on her nerves and barely even responding to her attempts at shutting them up with blackmail.

The ride is silent for the most part, only the sound of smooth jazz music filling the void between the three of them. Ryu shifts awkwardly on the back, legs bunched up high as his head is bent to allow Ted a view out of the rear window. It's amusing just how hard a time Ryu has fitting into things.

Ted makes a turn that Chie _knows_ leads to the scenic route to Hitomi's house, and alarms sound in her ears as the man slows the speed of his car.

"I heard about what happened at school today," Ted says slowly. His voice is no longer playful and high, taking on the same low, dangerous tone that Isamu Fujisaki is known for using in court. This is another reason that Chie hates Ted—he's too similar to her father, despite how different they are. "The whole thing with Bon-Bon getting hit with a rice ball, I mean."

Chie's lips purse shut as Ryu leans forward, chest almost touching his knees. "Did Bonnie tell you?" he says. He must be trying to be polite, wanting to humour Ted's attempt at conversation. Daft boy hasn't noticed that they're in a bad situation right now.

Ted shakes his head, chuckling to himself. "No, no," he sighs. "Bacon was surprisingly quiet about it. Kate told me—she heard it from a friend of hers."

A "friend". Chie knows better than to believe that. She has to doubt that Kate Baker had heard it before Ted did, though.

"Heard that the mayor's son decided to be a little dart. Not that I'm surprised; boy has a tool for a father, if I do say so myself."

Ryu coughs quietly. "W..." he mutters. "What?"

"I also heard that you gave the little turd a beating. Ryoshi, is it?"

Chie sinks into her seat as she listens to them talk. Ryu's in for a little surprise, if he thinks this is going to be a normal conversation.

"Ryuichi," Ryu corrects. "Everyone calls me Ryu, though."

"Right, right. I was actually hoping I'd run into you. Wanted to thank you for standing up for Bacon like that."

She doesn't like where this is going. A wary glance to Ted reveals the man's tight smile, the twitch of his brow as he recounts his daughter's emotional state upon coming home. To anyone who isn't in the Fujisaki family, they'd all assume he was upset that Bonnie had been bullied—but to Chie, it's more than obvious Ted is thinking ten steps ahead of the situation and weighing up his options.

The man may act incompetent, but he at least knows a few tricks; how else would his business have been kept afloat all these years?

The car comes to a complete halt in the middle of the road. To their immediate left is an alleyway, devoid of any kind of presence and shrouded in darkness. To their right is a cafe that's been closed for most of the day—their opening hours are few and far between.

"You see, Ryuichi," Ted drawls. "Kate and I always thought our daughter would be safe from bullies once we moved to Japan. Heard that most people enjoy foreigners—or at least white foreigners."

"Not really..." Ryu mutters, though it goes unheard as Ted continues talking.

"Needless to say, Kate was livid when she found out the Mayor's son—the _Mayor's_ son!—had hit our little girl with a rice ball. Poor thing looked like she had pink eye when I came home this afternoon. But then I heard that, before our people could intervene, _you_ went after the little prick."

"Why isn't the car moving?" Chie cuts in loudly. Ted ignores her, but Ryu looks around as though he's just now noticed the lack of movement outside the car.

Ted reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, pinching at something within it. As he pulls it out, Chie can just barely see the phone number and his full name written on one side—a business card. "We always thought having our team keep an eye on her would keep her safe, especially after France," he goes on. "Unfortunately, we've had to accept the hard way that Haruna High won't bend to our whims when it comes to keeping Bacon safe. That's when an idea struck me: We could always hire someone to keep an eye on her, someone she knows. Chai Tea was out of the question, though—I know as well as Kate that Chie is just barely tolerating Bonnie."

He turns in his seat, giving Chie a glimpse of the threatening, toothy grin on his face before his eyes focus on Ryu. The hand with the business card extends to the boy, the white slip pinched tightly between his middle and index fingers. "Bonnie's talked about you quite a few times, Mr. Hiroshi," Ted tells Ryu lowly. All friendliness in his tone is gone—instead, there is only a cold lilt to his voice. "And after hearing about your efforts today, I'm willing to think that you'd be the perfect candidate for a bodyguard."

Ryu's blue eyes bulge at the offer. He immediately drops back into the seat and tries to put as much distance between himself and Ted as possible.

"With all due respect, Mr. Baker," he says, voice shaking with nerves, "there's no need to hire a bodyguard for Bonnie during _school_. Haruna High is thorough in keeping its students safe."

Ted waves the card teasingly. "How many days did you get suspended for, Mr. Hiroshi?"

He bites his lip before answering, "One, sir."

"And young Ichiro Ietaka?"

From the way Ryu glares at the card, Chie can only assume he's starting to see Ted's point of view. "None, sir."

Ted almost smirks, glancing at Chie as though to boast about his efforts. "Ryuichi, I'm going to give you an offer that will benefit you and your friends," he announces. "All I ask is that you give me six to seven hours a day, five days a week, to keep an eye open for Bonnie. In return, you'll receive a very generous weekly salary, and I'll make sure to have a nice chat with the school if you—or one of your friends—get in trouble for looking after Bonnie."

Ryu looks like he's hesitating as he hears the offer, torn between an easy job and what he'd probably rule as being "morally upstanding" or whatever. Chie can never understand why people would think to turn down jobs like this—though then again, she'd turn it down solely because it meant actually caring about the wellbeing of the most annoying little gremlin to ever exist. Money is pretty, but sometimes you need to stop and ask yourself, "What am I willing to put up with?" In the case of Bonnie Baker, the answer will always be, "Not this shit."

A hand darts out and carefully takes the card from Ted. Ryu glares down at it in deep thought, worrying at his lip with his teeth.

"You don't have to make the decision right now," Ted reassures him, back to his friendly tone. "Think it over tonight, and I'll chat with you tomorrow about it. Just give me a call and we'll discuss the fine print."

Ryu nods slowly and exhales through his nose. Ted turns back to the steering wheel, satisfied expression on his face, and begins to drive once more. Chie and Ryu remain silent as Ted continues along the long road at the speed limit, uncertain about what to say after their conversation.

Chie becomes bored enough to fiddle with the lock on her door, pushing in and pulling it out every few seconds. Ted doesn't seem bothered by it, causing her to wonder if Bonnie has a habit of doing the same thing, while Ryu sinks further into the backseat as he flips the card between his fingers.

After what feels like an eternity, Ryu asks quietly, "What happened in France?"

Chie's entire body goes rigid at the question. While it may not exactly be public knowledge, she's known for a while just what happened in France—or, at the very least, the basic outline of events. Bonnie is a very chatty girl, and loves to show off everything she knows; she speaks fluent Russian when she messes with her classmates, recognises at a glance just how much a pile of flour weighs, and has strange moments of clarity where she shows off a knowledge no one her age should have. It had been easy for Chie to put the pieces together, having her dad try to get her involved in the case. "His daughter will be your friend, so it's best you learn as much as possible in order to make sure you don't offend her," he'd said.

During the time of Ted's court case, Bonnie and her mother, Kate, had been living in Russia. They'd previously lived in France, and Ted had been arrested in their home while Kate had whisked their daughter away on a private jet. That's what she's learned from Bonnie—but the rest of the clues had come from Isamu's files.

Ted was being put on trial for multiple different things—conspiracy to murder, paraphernalia, drug possession, manufacturing, distribution and trafficking—and for a while none of it could be proved; he remained in France to save face before a suitable lawyer was hired, and then three years later Kate and Bonnie came to Japan. Ted followed shortly after, boarding a jet with Isamu. Chie has no doubts that the bullying Bonnie had faced in France had something to do with Ted's charges.

Ted taps his thumb against the steering wheel. The car turns onto another street—one that will take them to Hitomi's house at a quicker pace. He's silent for a few seconds, blinking ever so slowly as he processes Ryu's question.

Finally, he says, "Ada Moreau; Daisi Martin; Rachelle Durand. Do those names sound familiar to you, Ryuichi?"

"No, sir."

Ted nods. "It wasn't a big case—not big enough to get international awareness, at least. Those are the names of the girls who bullied Bonnie while we lived there. Can you guess how long they did it for?"

"Um..." Ryu clears his throat uncertainly. "A few weeks?"

The man only laughs out loud once. "Chai Tea, wanna have a guess?" he asks Chie.

She barely hesitates with her response. "Three hundred and sixty-five days," she mutters.

"On whole year!" Ted laughs. "Harassed her for an entire year, they did. Kate was livid when she found out about it."

"What'd she do about it?" Ryu asks.

"Remember how I told you she heard about today from a friend? Kate's friends are very reliable, you could say. Where she goes, they follow; and they're just as protective of Bonnie as we are. Let me tell you, they weren't very happy when they heard about her bullies."

Ryu leans forward again, curious about the "friends" Ted describes. "What'd they do?"

"Their job," Ted says quickly.

Hitomi's house comes into view, just a short distance down the street. The porch light is on, two cars parked along the curb. She recognises the car closest to them—a red Jaguar that definitely belongs to her dad—but the Cressida, looking to be old and well-loved, doesn't belong to anyone she knows.

A delighted sound comes from Ted as he spots the cars as well. "Looks like your old man's over for dinner," he chirps.

"Yes," Chie replies. She keeps her voice low and slow, raking her mind for any kind of mention of guests coming over for dinner tonight. Hitomi hasn't made any plans this week, as far as she knows, and if she has then she sure as hell hasn't told Chie about them.

"Ryuichi, you need a ride to your place?" Ted throws back at Ryu. Ryu shakes his head. The man makes a sly noise in the back of his throat and nudges Chie with his elbow. His eyebrows waggle playfully, almost as though he's just been let in on a joke no one else knows.

He stops the car just in front of the Cressida, letting Ryu and Chie out as he says his goodbyes to them. Chie ignores him for the most part, inspecting the car with a frown and trying to figure out who could own it.

Ted drives off while telling Ryu he'll need to call him back before tomorrow night, and then the two teens are standing in silence as they watch the faded green car.

"Know anyone who drives one of these?" Chie asks. Ryu shakes his head once.

"You?" he replies. She shakes her head as she lets out a short click of her tongue.

She turns on her heel and moves towards the porch, letting out a loud sigh that would most likely have been heard by anyone inside the house. "We might as well face my dad," she growls.

The front door is unlocked, allowing them to sneak inside quietly and turn the porch light off behind them. Chatter comes from within the house, very obviously Hitomi's voice, and for a second Chie almost wonders if Isamu is in the bathroom. She and Ryu take off their shoes—and she pauses when she catches sight of the shoes lined by the door.

There's Isamu's Oxfords, Hitomi's dark penny loafers; beside them, however, are a very familiar pair of black sneakers. There's a near-identical pair next to them, but Chie knows this pair of shoes all too well. She sits behind them every day, in every class, and she cannot _believe_ they're in her house.

"I know who owns the car," she says grimly. Ryu doesn't get a chance to ask who, stumbling out of his shoes as Hitomi calls out for Chie.

A figure walks into the hallway from the dining room, coming to a halt in the middle of the hall as his arms cross in front of his chest. Chie curses her luck tonight—first Pandora, then Ted, and now _him_. It's almost uncanny how all of them appear in one night to bother her.

Ryu looks mostly undisturbed by the presence of Isamu Fujisaki, thumb rubbing idly against the back of Ted's business card. The watch on Isamu's wrist peeks out from under his clean, white dress shirt.

"You were out quite late, young lady," he starts. Chie chooses to ignore him, quickly grabbing onto Ryu's arm and dragging him towards the dining room door. Hitomi calls out again, and her voice is accompanied by another woman's voice.

Isamu's face seems to go sour at the sound of the other woman's voice. She decides to investigate—see who could have her father so upset with just her voice. Maybe she's related to the pest that's also in her house.

Chie peers inside, spotting the setup that the table has been placed in before anything else. Five spots have been allocated, each with a glass half-filled with water as the plates have at least two small breadsticks forming a V shape in the centres. The head of the table is Hitomi's spot, while it's more than clear that the seat with the navy jacket hanging over it belongs to Isamu. To Hitomi's right are two people—a redhead she doesn't recognise, and Banjou _God damn_ Ryougi.

She can't stop the sneer that makes its way onto her face.

"Let me guess," she hisses, "Hitomi invited you over for dinner."

His face goes red at the sound of her voice, glasses almost falling off of his face due to the jerk of surprise he makes. "Y—Yes!" he stammers.

The woman beside him—( _is that a police uniform? Oh Jesus H. Christ_ )—rises from her seat and holds out a hand for Chie to shake. Like hell she's walking into this room and standing near the nerdling just to talk to a cop.

"You must be Chie," she says happily, features soft and welcoming. _Gross_. "Ms. Hamasaki has told me a lot about you. I'm Hoshino, Banjou's aunt."

"You the sister of the Rabid Dog?" Chie deadpans, looking her up and down. Ryu hovers behind her silently as Isamu shoves his way into the room again.

Hoshino's soft expression melts away into something of dissatisfaction and anger. A smug feeling rises up in Chie's chest; looks like Haruno Ryougi is a sore subject for _someone_ in their family.

"Sergeant Ryougi is the elder sister of Ms. Ryougi," Isamu reports, seating himself across from the woman.

She chooses to ignore the important part of that sentence, refusing to acknowledge Isamu's presence. "Sergeant," she muses. "That's an impressive title."

Hoshino sinks into her seat slowly, eyes darting between Isamu and Chie with caution. Banjou watches his aunt with a nervous expression, almost as though he wants to say something to ease her worries.

In the hopes of avoiding any further conversation with their pests— _guests_ , Chie taps Ryu on the shoulder and tells him, "Have my share. I'm not hungry and you're still a growing boy."

He frowns at her and plants his hand on top of his head, and then moves it to the same height above Chie's. Banjou lets out a small chuckle.

"Hitomi," she calls as she turns on her heel and heads for the stairs leading to her bedroom. "I'm skipping dinner. Give Ryu mine."

A muffled cry comes back in reply.

* * *

It's not very often that all of them sit in the same room together, unless it's for dinner, and just talk. It's even rarer that they don't try to kill each other on sight, considering everyone at the table hates at least one of their siblings. On any normal day, they'd be avoiding each other or plotting against each other, or even just trying to one-up each other in what they do best.

But today requires a special level of calm. Today they have a chance to prevent something that could only serve to fill another seat at the long, rectangular dining table.

The sit in order of age, with Dionysus at the head of the table. Hades and Hestia flank him at the corners of the table, while the large screen behind them displays the image of Aphrodite in her study, tapping away at the keyboard of her laptop. Rem sits beside Hades, Hera adjacent to him and beside Hestia; Apollo and Artemis sit in the same way, filling one side with boys and one side with girls, while Athena paces at the other end of the table restlessly.

News has reached them that their father plans on adding another child to his collection. They all know what this will mean—where he'll have found them. The thought of another poor, hapless child being put through the hell that Rem has had to endure sends a cold chill down his spine; which poor, defenceless mother will lose a son next? Which unsuspecting family will be killed in order to have one poor, troubled child whisked away?

The news had been delivered to them in different methods—for Rem, it had been during one of his "sessions" with Zeus, wherein his patience had been pushed to the limits as the man had draped himself over a couch and put up his usual damsel in distress act. It had been a careless throwaway mention, obviously meant to be taken as casually as the announcement that a new bottle of milk is in the fridge; but the fact that it had been _Rem_ —his Ares, his Gladiator—that Zeus had told it to makes him wary.

"I believe I've found our Demeter," he'd cooed, massaging Rem's shoulders. "You probably already know her."

Rem would've dismissed the news if he'd been the only one told—no one would help him stop Zeus from adding another child to the family if only he knew, despite everyone's mutual hatred of the man—but after Athena had come barrelling into his room and demanded to know who in their school fit the personality of the deity Hypnos, it became pretty apparent that the kids needed to band together for once and prevent all hell from breaking loose.

Half of them are in their pyjamas, having only just been awoken from naps or ready to turn in for the night. The clock strikes ten as they sit in silence at the table. Rem swears he sees Aphrodite chew at the nail of her thumb with an anxious expression.

Athena is the first to speak up, turning for Dionysus and resting her hands on the surface of the table. It's the typical stance she enters when she starts to form a plan, and Rem feels hope well up within him as she inhales deeply.

"Everyone who's been told of a new sibling," she starts, "raise your hand."

There's a small moment of pause before one hand shoots up—Rem's. The others look at each other with reluctance, and soon three more rise: Hestia, Hades, and Dionysus. Athena looks at them all and nods slowly, and all at once they lower their hands.

"That makes five of us," she says quietly. "I was told of someone as well—but it's not the same as what Rem was told."

Rem sinks into his seat as all eyes fall to him. He glances warily over at Athena; her gaze remains glued to him, brown eyes pleading for him to start them off. She often calls on him when it comes to getting the group started on discussion, though he thinks it may be because their views are rather similar and their mutual respect makes them work better together than with others. After all, who better to understand a warrior than a fellow warrior?

Rem clears his throat and nods. He doesn't bother to stand as he addresses his siblings.

"Father—Zeus—" he starts. He never knows what to call the man, be it a begrudging "father" or a polite "Zeus". At times he wishes he could just refer to him as a monster, but he knows it'll just sound melodramatic and clichéd. "He mentioned the he'd found a Demeter and that I might know them—"

" _Her_ ," Aphrodite cuts in, her high-pitched voice coming out grainy over the speakers beside the screen. She doesn't even bother to look in Rem's direction, instead pausing her typing to tuck a lock of short, golden hair behind her ear. " _Demeter is a woman in Greek mythology_."

Rem nods, though he can't help throw a scowl at her. He hates it when she interrupts him to show off how smart she is. "Said I might know _her_ ," he says. "I don't know what he means by it, though."

Dionysus hums to himself quietly, grey eyes falling to the surface of the table in thought. Hestia leans forward in her seat, crossing her arms in a way that pushes her breasts higher than usual and revealing more cleavage. Rem casts his gaze up to the ceiling, feeling the heat rise to his face at the sight of the bare skin.

"Maybe it's your girlfriend," she teases, using that same tone of voice that Zeus uses during his and Rem's "sessions". He wishes she'd stop it, but there's no negotiating with Hestia. "Daddy probably wants his _rough_ , _rugged_ Gladiator to stop being a prude—"

Rem slams his hands onto the table and rises from his chair with a sneer. He's about to blow up at her, yell at her to shut her mouth and to leave her sexual comments out of this discussion, but someone else beats him to it. His voice catches in his throat as Aphrodite pipes up again, finally looking at them in earnest through the camera.

Her green eyes stare at Hestia down her nose, her voice uncaring and cold. " _Because we all know how well being loose like you has worked out so far, right Senna?_ " she says glibly. Hestia's nostril twitches at Aphrodite's remark, but she maintains a calm composure as she ignores the blonde.

Hades sighs deeply at the exchange between the girls. Rem slowly lowers himself back into his seat while Hades raises a hand to speak, patiently watching Dionysus as their eldest brother taps his finger against his chin. When Dionysus fails to acknowledge him, too focused on the table, Athena calls out for Hades to speak.

His voice is all doom and gloom as usual as he asks his siblings, "Was anyone else told about a Hephaestus? Or am I in the same boat as Rem and Athena?"

Athena's brow furrows as Hestia shakes her head. Her bright red curls bounce around at the movement, falling over her shoulders and appearing to swallow up her face. Rem finds a small stab of relief in the back of his mind when he notices that her breasts are now covered by the hair.

"Hephaestus?" Athena mutters. "Like the smith?"

They sit in silence for a few good seconds, the only sounds they hear being the tapping of Aphrodite's keyboard and the occasional muttering under her breath. Athena seats herself at last, frowning at the name.

Dionysus finally speaks, looking up at Athena and having that same contemplative furrow of his brow. "So Rem was told about a Demeter and Hades was told about a Hephaestus. There's a chance we were all told of someone else as well, which means he hasn't picked which one he wants."

Athena nods. "I was told about a Hypnos," she notes. "All I know about Hypnos is that he's the personification of sleep, though—a lesser-known, smaller scale Olympian."

"Add Eros to the list," Dionysus announces. Aphrodite pauses before tapping away at her keyboard again. It only just now dawns on Rem that she's keeping track of their conversation and drawing up possible lists of candidates.

Hestia sighs wistfully and leans back in her seat, pouting as she says, "Poo. I wanted to say I got Eros."

Half of them burst out of their seats, shocked at her sentence. It takes Rem a few seconds to process it, but then it all clicks into place as Athena begins to pace once more: Hestia and Dionysus were told of the same potential sibling.

Artemis, acting dull as ever, laughs nervously and knocks the side of her head with a soft tap of her knuckles. "Um..." she starts. "Why are we all gasping?"

" _Because we have a way to figure out who is who, you troglodytic Neanderthal_ ," Aphrodite hisses. " _We can stop him from taking more kids_."

"Oh!" Artemis gasps, beaming up at the screen. "Wow! That's so cool, Phroey! But, like, what if some of us don't mind getting a new sibling?"

Dionysus clears his throat loudly before Aphrodite even has a chance to begin a verbal assault on Artemis. "Artemis," he says softly, giving her a guilty smile, "all things considered, it'd be better if the sack of shit didn't add another kid to his collection. This is the only way we have to get back at him for now, so just help us out and don't tell him."

Artemis huffs her out cheeks defiantly, but nods in agreement anyway. A few of them let out relieved breaths; she's too stupid for her own good, Rem thinks, and they all know she would've tattled to Zeus about their discussion if Dionysus hadn't said anything.

"Anyway," Dionysus continues. He looks back to Athena, expression serious once more. "Hestia and I share a sibling name, which means it's entirely possible that we _both_ know this person—be it by name or even personally."

"And the same could be said for the rest of us," Athena adds. "He said Rem would know Demeter—and that I'd recognise Hypnos."

"He just said Hephaestus and I were kindred spirits," Hades glumly supplies. Athena nods to him, showing that she's acknowledged him once more.

Dionysus frowns as she turns in his seat, looking to the screen behind him as Aphrodite's tapping pauses. Her eyes dart back and forth behind her glasses, narrowing in the way they do whenever she starts to piece together a puzzle.

"Got any suggestions, Phro?" he asks.

A scoff comes from across the table, and all eyes fall to Hera. She sits across from Rem, arms crossed in front of her chest stubbornly. She and Aphrodite look more alike than the rest of them, which is expected with them being the only biologically related siblings. They are the first children of Zeus, the only ones he'd conceived with his wife. From what Rem's heard from the other siblings, Hera bears a strong resemblance to the late Stellar Pavlopoulos—and Zeus often mistakes her for the woman.

In Rem's opinion, Hera is the one who should've been named Aphrodite. It's not that Phro herself isn't pretty enough—though she doesn't exactly fit the "traditional" definition of pretty, either—but when their appearances and personalities are compared, it's almost as though Zeus made a mistake with who he'd name them after.

Like the Goddess Hera, Aphrodite is intelligent and sour towards Zeus, often acting like the matriarch of the children due to her status as eldest sister. Like the Goddess Aphrodite, Hera is beautiful and envied by most of the household, doted on by Zeus more than any other. It's almost as ironic as the fact that Zeus had given Senna the name of Hestia—one of the three _virgin_ Goddesses.

"I see we're all just going to rely on Nerdzilla to figure it out for us, then," Hera growls.

" _Haven't heard 'Nerdzilla' before_ ," Aphrodite replies sarcastically.

A small voice mutters something beside him. Rem knows it's Apollo, trying to diffuse the situation but ultimately having his voice swallowed up by the room's atmosphere. Apollo's muttering is ignored, but Rem still places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Apollo smiles at him, happy to have been heard by someone, as Dionysus tells Hera to let Aphrodite do her work.

" _In any case, D_ ," Aphrodite goes on, acting as though Hera had never even said a thing, " _there's a high chance that the kids are from our school. He said we'd know them, and two of you have the same name—so it's possible they're a person from a club or something._ "

"But I'm not in a club," Ares argues.

" _No. You're not._ " Aphrodite hums shortly, squinting at the screen of her laptop as she chews her thumbnail again.

Hera scoffs again, much more loudly this time. "Some help your two hundred and forty-seven IQ was—"

" _Classmates_ ," Aphrodite cuts her off. " _It's classmates—people in our classes._ "

Dionysus and Hestia look at each other like they just figured out the secrets of the universe. Hestia's hands fly to her cheeks as she gasps that she'd never considered classmates. Hestia and Dionysus are in the same class, which explains why they were told about Eros. But Hades is also in their class—so why wasn't he told of Eros instead of Hephaestus?

Wait—if it's classmates, then that means—

Rem bursts out of his seat. "Is anyone in 2-4?" he gasps.

Athena glares at him, as do a few others at the table. "None of us are in the same class as your girlfriend, Rem," she deadpans. Rem feels his face heat up in embarrassment. "Besides, she'd probably try to make some money with the news instead of keep herself safe."

" _I'll never understand why she likes money so much_ ," Aphrodite grumbles. " _One of the few intellectuals I know, and she doesn't even hold on to her secrets and demand favours in return_."

Rem inhales deeply and forces himself to sit back down, relief flooding his chest as he convinces himself that she's safe—his Chi-Chi is safe. The last thing he wants is for Zeus to get his hands on her and break her cool, tough spirit; she's perfect the way she is now, and he refuses to let it dull in any way whatsoever.

Everyone's talking again, but he's not listening. His thoughts are almost entirely occupied by his one and only true love.

She's just so perfect; strong-willed and secretive, mysterious and edgy. Oh, how he wishes Chi-Chi would take notice of him and prod into his life, no matter what he does. He wants her to uncover everything about him, find out the things he can't say, and maybe even try to make a profit from it. He wonders if she has a date to the dance Thursday. He wonders if he can convince her to go with him.

Gosh, she'd look so pretty in the dress she'd wear. He can see her in a magnificent ball gown, wide skirt creating a barrier between herself and everyone else. She'd be the centre of attention; the belle of the ball. And Rem would be the suit-clad gentleman leading her into the dance.

Waltzing with her.

Holding her hand.

 _Oh geez, what if they get to kiss—_

"Oh my God, Rem," Hera snaps. "Can you fanaticise about your girlfriend _after_ this conversation is over?"

Rem slams his hands onto the table in annoyance, yelling back at Hera, "She's not my girlfriend!"

At least half of them scoff in disbelief. Rem snarls at them and jumps out of his seat, ready to fight anyone who dares tease him any more on the subject.

Athena clears her throat loudly, glaring at Rem to sit down again. He crosses his arms in front of his chest defiantly, glaring back at her.

She finally sighs and says, "Because it's likely that the new sibling is in one of our classes, we're going to have to look at each student _carefully_ and pick out who the most likely to be taken next. Once we know, we're going to stick to them like glue and make sure Zeus gets absolutely zero chances to take them."

" _The dance on Thursday is the most likely day he'll try take someone_ ," Aphrodite adds. " _Anyone going needs to try make that person your date—it'll help keep an eye on them in case the night gets hectic_."

"Everyone clear on this?" Athena looks to her siblings for confirmation, and one by one they nod. Rem inhales deeply and seats himself again, nodding along with the others. He's not too keen on having to follow someone around all the time until Zeus gets bored, but it seems he has no choice in the matter.

With a final decisive nod, Athena stands up straight and says, "Alright. Family meeting adjourned."

* * *

 **Oke let's seeeeee...**

 **I tried to get as many characters introduced as possible, but right now I think we've got maybe four more who haven't been introduced by name yet? That should hopefully change in the next chapter, so I think it's safe to say now that I've opened a popularity poll! It's going to remain open up until "Z-Day - 2", which is two days away in the story's timeline, so take your time with who you vote for! You've got three votes, if more than one character takes your fancy, and the winners will be announced in the author's note of the morning of "Z-Day - 2".**

 **Now for the hints:**

1: The Fool is a female student.  
2: The Fool was one of the members of the group who wanted to look for their families.  
3: The Fool was uncertain of her heroic archetype at the time of the conversation on it.

 **No more hints for the Antagonist, since I've given a pretty big one already for who it is - though I think only one or two of you are on the right track on who it could be, so keep at it!**


	5. 04: Three Days Remain

**hey guys! sorry this took a while to get out eheh. bit of a short chapter, but I didn't want to linger too long on the day it's set on.**

 **just a quick heads up, i've decided to make a tumblr to post small updates regarding trust and whatnot, that way everyone still knows what's going on if it takes a while to get a chapter done. at the moment there's one post, but after uploading this chapter i'll be adding a list of archetypes for the cast (without their names, of course)**

 **for anyone interested, the blog is called** harunahigh-official **. now then, on to the chapter! hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

 **Z-Day – 3**

When his alarm buzzes at six-thirty on the dot that morning, all Gio can do is sigh deeply and hit the snooze button that appears on his screen. He's been awake for the past half-hour, too bothered by yesterday's close call to sleep more than a few hours at a time, and the games on his phone can only tide him over for so long before he has to admit he's got a day to face.

It hadn't been hard to get the information on the new student for Chie—if anything, the staff member who had seen him assumed it was to make sure the new student would be comfortable when they arrived. What Gio struggles with understanding, however, is just why Chie would want to know so early. Her whole shtick is digging into people's personal lives on her own and bringing up old baggage for her own personal gain, but preparing herself two whole days early? Something about this new student must've hit a tender spot in Fujisaki's ego, or perhaps a rumour is already circulating and she just wants to confirm it.

Gio taps the mail app at the bottom of the screen and squints at the inbox, finding that no mail has been sent in the past half an hour. He'd already made sure to send the documents to Chie before bed, hoping to avoid a sudden midnight blackmailing, but he never did get much of a chance to read over everything. He checks his sent mail folder and taps on the first result he sees, titled _New student docs._

It's a standard application form, as well as medical records, all compressed into one PDF file. At the very top is the school's emblem and name, and then right underneath is the declaration of the name Selina Teo.

Seventeen years old and set to join class 2-4, with her only major medical concerns being mild myopia. Gio really can't see what's so special about her—the fact that she's coming from Singapore? The fact that she's orphaned? That there's a phone number for a therapist and a social worker from the Ministry of Social and Family Development? Gio frowns at that one.

Reading further down, he sees only a few things of note as to why Chie might be interested in Selina—though half of this stuff would be either repressed memories or carefully hidden secrets. Looking at the picture on the medical form, Gio knows that this no-nonsense, stoic-looking girl wouldn't crack very easily under pressure to answer questions. The files from her therapist, listed as being required for transfer for the school counsellor, list only vague details about her previous home life; Gio can't help but roll his eyes at them as he reads each event.

Boo-fricking-hoo, he thinks; so her father went crazy while her mother's dead. At least they _wanted_ Selina, Gio thinks bitterly. He closes the app and sits up with a huff. At least they wanted her when she was born.

Thinking on his own issues isn't going to make the morning any easier to get through, Gio decides, and he quickly puts the phone on his nightstand. He kicks off his blankets and stretches his arms, and then it's only a matter of footsteps before he's out of his room and traversing down the hall of the De Vitis home.

It's not as big as their home in Florida, but it's definitely bigger than what he grew up with in Italy. Gio can appreciate the homely feeling this one gives off—the pictures of his father, his elder half-brother, and even Alberta lining the walls that they pass each morning. From the outside looking in, this is the home of a very rich, very close-knit family. And in a way, that's a correct assumption. The De Vitis family _is_ close-knit; while Gio had never grown up with his father until he was ten, he still had a father figure in his uncle. Despite the fact that he's not even Alberta's son, she still welcomes him home each afternoon with a hug and a cup of coffee. The photos don't lie, which he's thankful for.

The long hallway ends at the doorway to the living room, the double doors wide open and the curtains pulled away from the windows. Alberta is busily moving around the living room with one arm wrapped protectively around the two-year-old clinging to her shoulder. She kicks at small toys until they're closer to the couch she usually sits at of a morning; Falco likes to play with his trucks every morning, and Alberta always does her best to keep an eye on him when he does.

Alberta doesn't realise that Gio has entered the living room until Falco starts wiggling in her grip. He's got a big grin on his face, smacking his mother's shoulder as he announces, "Gee!"

Gio yawns just as Alberta turns around, and then he's being handed his younger brother with a relieved sigh.

"Keep an eye on him while I make breakfast, will you?" she half-asks. Alberta's already moving out of the living room as she says it, but she knows Gio won't say no. He can never say no to Falco.

Falco crawls along the couch as he makes roaring sounds, imitating a lion while Gio watches with mild interest. Ever since he got his lion pyjamas for Christmas last year, Falco's been obsessed with the animal; Gio wonders if he was ever like that at that age, obsessing over some random animal because of clothing.

From the couch they're both on, there's a brilliant view of the sunrise right outside their window. They never have to turn on the lights in the morning thanks to the position of the window, and it's always a great way to pass the time in the morning when nothing is on television. Gio leans back into the couch and groans loudly; Falco mimics him, flopping across the older boy's lap as wildly as possible. He's really not looking forward to today, and he's especially not looking forward to tomorrow.

He'd forgotten all about the big dodge ball game happening during lunch tomorrow—an idea proposed by the all of sports clubs unanimously, and backed up by the gym teachers. As much as he enjoys the break from classes that activities bring, Gio really isn't in the mood for an all-second-years match of dodge ball. As far as he knows it's going to be split by having the boys face off against the girls, but Gio knows that a number of the girls in the second year aren't going to be too happy about squaring up against the boys. Gio just counts himself lucky that it's not a school-wide match, and that the majority of students attending will just be spectating.

But he'll be expected to compete. Of course he'll be expected to. He's the school council president, how can he not?

Falco wriggles around and babbles about something—Gio isn't exactly well-versed in babble—while Alberta makes loud noises in the kitchen. It won't be long before his dad wakes up, and then they'll all be gathered at the dinner table and eating their hearty breakfasts together. If he's lucky, he'll be hearing only good news while he eats. If he's unlucky, he'll just have to talk about his plans for the day and actually pretend he cares about the events his school is hosting. Not a bad thing, but still—Gio would rather avoid thinking about the education system before nine, if he can help it.

Alberta waltzes back into the room with a small smile on her face. She whisks up Falco and holds him against her hip, stopping him from squirming around once more.

"I looked at that ring you brought home yesterday," she starts. Gio sits up straight and turns his full attention to her. He'd been wondering before bed if the ring was worth anything. "Fairly nice craftsmanship. You don't see a lot of rings like it around here—makes me think it was commissioned and given to whoever it belonged to as a present. Smart of them to use peridots, too. Strong gem. I wouldn't say it'd fetch much in a pawn shop, though, unless they look for uniqueness in their exchanges."

He raises a brow at her. "Should I give it back, then?"

She shrugs. Falco pats her shoulder with wide eyes. "It's up to you," she says. "I can think of a few friends who'd appreciate it back home, but I won't do anything without until I know what you're doing first."

Gio may have to think on it for a while. It'd be handy to not have to give it back, seeing as any suspicion could be thrown his way over any lie he uses; it's also handy that Alberta knows people who could enjoy the ring for what it is, and that they're far, far away from its original owner. But at the same time, Hinazuki probably also enjoyed the ring for what it is. A family member might have had it made for her as a birthday gift, like Alberta said, and it's probably tearing her apart now that she's lost it.

He'll need more time to consider it. If she comes to him today and asks about it, he'll "keep an eye open" for it and then pretend it was left by an anonymous student in the student council room tomorrow. Otherwise, Alberta's friends may just get a new piece of jewellery.

"I'll think about it," he decides. Alberta nods and turns for the kitchen. Shortly before she leaves, Gio adds, "Thanks for looking at it, by the way."

"Not a problem, not a problem." She sounds almost gleeful to be thanked. It reminds him of a child who enjoys hearing praise from their parents. "Come sit down—breakfast is just about ready."

Now there's some good news. Gio doesn't move as fast as Falco can in the morning, but he still manages to overtake Alberta and find his spot at the dining table. The table is set and the silverware is out on display—all that's missing is his father and breakfast.

Breakfast comes out first, a hefty amount of bacon, scrambled eggs, and sausages. Gio inhales the steam deeply as Alberta sets out plates of the food for herself and Favero, leaving only a bowl of scrambled eggs and sliced sausage and bacon for Falco. He still isn't good with using knives and forks yet, though doesn't seem to ever complain about eating his breakfast with a spoon.

"Smells amazing, Mama," Gio says. Alberta winks at him with her own proud flair, and then she's leaving to go wake up Favero. They never usually care if Gio eats before them—Falco does it all the time—but he still prefers to wait and eat with them. It's what families do, isn't it?

Favero is stumbling into the room, babbling, and for a moment Gio thinks he may be stressing out over something that happened recently. Alberta is silent behind him, watching with wide eyes as her husband takes his seat at the dining table. He almost considers asking Favero what's wrong—but stops himself when he sees the phone in his father's hand, held closely to his ear. Falco waves his spoon around and opens his mouth wide to display his chewed up eggs to Favero. The man only nods at the boy with a small smile before turning his full attention to the phone again.

From what he can hear, Favero is talking with someone about "business". It's his _business_ phone; his _business_ voice; his _business_ negotiating. He usually wouldn't care if it was his personal phone, but Gio makes a point to pay extra attention whenever Favero's got his sleek, black mobile in his hand.

"I was thinking the same thing, actually," Favero goes on. He's glancing between his wife and sons cautiously, almost as though he wants to share his news but isn't sure if he should. "How do you propose we split it? I'm all for whatever you have in mind. Ah. Yes, that's perfectly reasonable, Mr. Baker. You're sure about making it twenty-five seventy-five? Japan isn't exactly my base of operations, and it feels like I'm stepping on your toes taking a quarter of the profit."

Gio's heart leaps at the mention of Mr. Baker and profits. Was the letter he gave to Bonnie yesterday not a threat?

"You're very generous, thank you. Alright, I'll keep in touch. Thank you for your time." Favero hangs up. The moment the phone is placed on the table, he bursts out of his seat and lets out a loud whoop of joy. " _Lo abbiamo fatto!_ "

Alberta rushes to his side with her hands in her hair, combing nervously through it. "Did what? What did we do, Favero?"

"We are officially partnering with the Baker family in Japan," Favero announces. There's a moment of silence before the news actually sets in, and then Alberta and Gio are nearly screaming in surprise as they rush to Favero. He looks proud of himself as he goes on, "Ol' Ted found my proposal to be reasonable, and now we can still make profits while also getting the favour of another family."

"How on earth—" Gio flails about in shock. Favero wraps his arm around his son's shoulders, pulling him close and giving the boy his signature "dad hug".

"Ambrogio, you wonderful boy!" he cheers. "Because you delivered the letter, we're going to be doing even better than before! You might even get to manage some of the operations once you graduate!"

This is amazing news, but he still can't figure out just how Favero did it. He'd been so solemn when he'd given Gio the letter, like it'd be the last one he'd ever be able to write without facing backlash from Ted Baker; but now it's like seeing a whole new man, ready to go get whatever he wants while he's still on cloud nine.

"What do we do?" Alberta asks. "Do we have to do anything?"

Favero nods and releases Gio, letting the boy fix the collar of his pyjamas. "Just send the new recruits from Tokonosu to Baker and offer help whenever he asks. Alberta—it's only a quarter, but it'll go a long way once everything kicks off."

The woman is cheering and jumping on the toes of her feet, clapping and spinning in circles. Falco joins in, gurgling at the top of his lungs as he flings some of his eggs onto the table. Neither parent is deterred by the mess, too elated to scold the boy.

Gio falls back into his seat with a smile glued to his face. This is amazing news, he thinks. Not as amazing as finding out he'd actually be living with his father, but still amazing nonetheless. He can picture it now, the two families standing tall against even the yakuza as they conduct business.

Today marks the day that the Baker and de Vitis drug rings form a partnership.

* * *

Haruhi may as well be the last one to leave class today. She's been running behind everyone else in order to finish all of her work, make sure it's presentable, and it's pretty much worn her out now that classes are over. Another day has gone by and not much has happened—though she knows that there's been a few whispers here and there about yesterday's fiasco.

She packs her bag and slings it over her shoulder as she lets out a small sigh. Already only Tuesday and she's gone and made herself talk of the school with her "drama" with Ichiro. Not that she minds; it's always nice to be remembered for _something_ in a school filled with so many hundred students. She just hopes this doesn't come back to bite her in the behind. He's got one whole year ahead of her in popularity, and he's definitely much more ruthless to boot. She knows Ichiro is going to try something to get back at her, or at the very least knock her down a peg.

It's about twenty to four right now, which leaves her enough time to run for archery club if she feels up to it. She's been getting in a lot of practice lately, shooting ahead of other members, but whether or not she goes really depends on her mood lately. There's not a lot to look forward to except for praise and patience, really.

Haruhi leaves the classroom, shutting the door softly behind her as she does so. She might skip club activities today—she could really use a rest from people. If it's not strangers chasing her down to spend time with her, it's Aoi and Jessica sitting at her desk and following her around with their own friends in tow. Haruhi still isn't sure why Jessica, of all people, is still friends with her. The two may as well be rivals when it comes to their popularity and statuses—the Ice Princess and Queen Bee, people call them. She's not going to complain, if Jessica is well and truly set on them being close friends, but it's still odd that the two "top dogs" of 2-1 would be so close. The two girls did meet because of Aoi, now that she thinks about it; maybe she has the smaller girl to thank for bringing them together.

The halls may as well be empty, save for the few late leavers like her. They're leaving their classrooms with the signature sluggish movements a Tuesday bestows on some students, and part of her wants to announce to them, "Chin up. Tomorrow's hump day."

Another part of Haruhi says that if someone had told her the same thing, she'd sock them in the face for reminding her that it's only Tuesday.

She passes the janitor's closet, barely paying it any mind. It's a habit of hers to glance at it whenever she walks by, almost as though she's curious to see if its contents are out on display. Her eyes absently look over at the door, hardly expecting to see anything remarkable. Haruhi stops altogether once she actually sees the closet door, attention drawn to the apparent activity in front of it.

Someone's kneeling down in front of the door, back to Haruhi as their arms move about ever so slightly. She swears she's seen them before, even if she's only looking at them from behind, but she can't quite place _where_. A short click comes from the closet door, and then it's swinging open ever so slightly. They turn, reaching for something in their bag—and then freeze when they see Haruhi staring at them.

Now she knows without a doubt who it is. Only one person on the entire second floor wears a white surgical mask at all hours, face hidden almost entirely from view. Haruhi blinks at him, his name on the tip of her tongue, while he stares at her with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. As she tries to remember his name, her gaze shifts to his dark hair. There's the barest hints of blue highlights dyed in; her hand rises to her back of her head unconsciously, almost as though reminding herself that she too has dye in her hair. Hidden dye, but dye nonetheless.

After a moment of staring at each other, she finally figures out who he is. "You're... Mu, right?" she says. "Charles Mu?"

His eyes narrow at her, almost in thought, before he nods once. "Mu," he confirms. His voice is so soft and quiet, almost too difficult to hear from behind the surgical mask. "You are Kasagawa."

"Yeah—we're in 2-1 together, right?" He nods again. Well, good to know she can at least remember a classmate she hardly ever talks to. "So, um. What are you doing?"

His fingers twitch in surprise before he quickly pulls his bag to his front, shoving whatever is in his hand into the front pocket of the backpack. Mighty suspicious, the way he doesn't answer her as he tries to hide whatever he's holding.

"It—It's nothing," he murmurs. "Aren't you leaving?"

Rude. She frowns at him and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"If you're planning on stealing anything, I'm going to have to report you to the office," she threatens. "It didn't look like you opened the closet with a key."

His shoulders rise into a hunch, almost as though he's trying to hide himself from her view. He must really not like her declaration, but he doesn't look like he's standing down.

"What do you care?" he says. There's almost no fight in his voice, but his words are definitely meant to dissuade her from tattling. "For all you know, I could be trying to hide in here. Besides, who would want to take something as cheap as a mop?"

Haruna High's mops probably aren't as cheap as he's making them out to be. Haruhi refuses to back down from his challenge.

"If it's nothing suspicious, then why not just tell me what you're doing? I'll believe you if you're honest."

The mask moves and creases a bit—probably from him scrunching up his nose or frowning. While she really doesn't see the good in starting something with a practical stranger only a day after getting on Ichiro's bad side, she really can't let theft and breaking into a janitor's closet slide.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing to himself, before he finally lowers his head in what she assumes is shame. "I'm going to watch a movie in there," he mumbles. "It's one of the places no one will interrupt. Well, it _used_ to be."

Dismiss the attitude, Haruhi. He's being honest, and that's all you wanted.

She rolls her eyes at him and turns on her heel, giving him the benefit of the doubt. There's plenty of other places he could watch movies without being interrupted, but whatever. To each their own.

"Fine," she huffs. "Enjoy your movie, or whatever. Try not to get a cramp leaning over the bucket."

Haruhi is moving for the stairs at a leisurely pace while Charles watches from his spot. He doesn't dare move until she's descending the stairs—and it's only then, when Haruhi is halfway to the first floor, that she hears him mutter something in a vindictive tone.

Let it go, she tells herself. Don't start something stupid.

Maybe she'll go to archery club after all, she reasons. Her encounter with her classmate has left her in a bit of an annoyed state, and firing a few bows at a target really can't hurt to relieve the stress.

* * *

"Chimney! Catch me!"

Friedrich barely has any time to look up from his watch before someone is flung at him. A second of panic passes through his mind as his hands fly up in front of him, the sight of large, floppy pink bunny eyes catching him off guard. The cigarette between his lips remains unlit, almost falling out of the loose position it's in, as a small body crashes into him.

They're not heavy or hard to hold up by any means, and if anything it's the floppy pink ear hitting him in the face upon impact that surprises him more. His cigarette lands on the ground softly, just a few feet away from him—just barely missing a small patch of dirt.

A soft giggling comes from his arms, and then two legs are kicking out excitedly.

"You caught Rin!" she giggles.

Friedrich has to take a second look at her just to make sure he's registering this right: A small girl named Rin jumping into his arms for no reason whatsoever, giggling hysterically and kicking her feet about while she wears a hoodie with bunny ears.

Yep. It's a thing that's happening right now.

The blond grins at her and carefully works to set her down on her own two feet—and almost gawks at how small she really is. Christ, she's probably smaller than five feet. How is she in high school?

"You caught me by surprise, little lady," he chuckles. "What can I do for you?"

She reaches into the hoodie and pulls out what looks to be a thin magazine, rolled up into a tube and held tightly in place by a rubber band. Rin yanks off the band and shoves the magazine in Friedrich's face, leaving very little space for him to breathe without fogging up his glasses.

"Rin's looking for a friend," she declares. "Have you seen her anywhere?"

It takes a second for his eyes to properly focus on the magazine, but once they do he immediately recognises the girl on the cover. He's not a big fan of the magazine—he's not sure many boys would be fans of _Teens' World Magazine_ , as a matter of fact—but he can say with absolute certainty that he's seen the girl on this issue's cover around the school. She's that quiet girl no one seems to hate, and he's pretty certain he's seen her flirting with a few people here and there.

It's hard to miss someone with her pink hair and bright blue eyes, too; which makes it pretty easy for him to help Rin out.

"I'm pretty sure I saw her heading towards the art club," he reports. Rin lowers the magazine and beams up at him with her own light blue eyes. "What's her name, by the way? Don't think I've met her."

"Ooh! Everyone calls her Solar," Rin says. "She's got the same last name as a second year, and she likes her nickname."

"Solar," he repeats. What an odd nickname. He can't exactly judge, being known as Chimney and all. "Think you can find your way to the art club on your own?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Panic flashes in her eyes before she smashes the magazine against her face. He can almost hear her embarrassment as she squeaks out, "No..."

Amazing. A second year student who doesn't know where the art club is. It's not unheard of, but it does put a damper in his plans to have a smoke. Friedrich shrugs mentally; nicotine can wait a few minutes.

"Want me to take you there?" he asks. Rin lowers the magazine just a tad, big eyes peeking over the edge of it.

"You'll help Rin?" she mumbles. He nods. Almost immediately she pulls the magazine away and starts jumping for joy, giggling like a toddler. "Thank you, Chimney! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!"

Friedrich clears his throat as she takes his hand and starts waving it around. He gets the feeling she won't be letting go any time soon. "You don't have to keep calling me Chimney, by the way," he explains. "It's just a nickname because I smell like smoke a lot. You can call me Friedrich, if you want."

Rin beams up at him as he starts to lead her back to the main building. If memory serves, the art club is situated on the first floor—just a short distance away from the doors leading to the greenhouse. "It's nice to meet you, _Friedrich_ ," she says. "You can call me Rin!"

"I gathered that," he laughs. "Very pretty name. It suits you."

Her jaw drops, mouth forming a perfect O shape. "You think Rin is pretty? Really?"

He nods with a proud smile. "It would be a lie if I said otherwise," he declares. She's giggling at him again, though it doesn't appear to be a bad kind of giggle.

Leading her around the main building is easy, though she does have a tendency to want to stop and look at things for a few seconds. Friedrich doesn't want to be rude and drag her along; he feels like it'd put a strain on her cheery mood, and he really doesn't mind hearing her giggle every so often. It's just odd—like minding a child, but not. He wonders if she's one of those girls who acts younger than her age to make others baby her? He thinks he's heard of those kinds of girls talking in third-person occasionally.

She stops him to look at one of the many posters for Thursday's dance, and he can't help but clench his jaw. Crap, he totally forgot to get a date to it. It's not like a date is compulsory or anything, but it'd be kind of awkward to show up on his own and then steal other girls to dance with. Rin points at the poster and looks up at him with wide eyes, almost contemplating her question before she asks him, "Are you going on Thursday?"

Friedrich pretends to think about it for a few seconds. "Maybe. I still haven't got a date yet," he says. "You?"

"Definitely! I'm going stag." She puts her hand on her hip and holds her chin high, proud to go on her own. He wonders if Rin is more the kind of girl who just does whatever, as long as she still has fun. It'd make more sense than the babying thing, though a combination of the two might be just as possible.

"Nice. You'll blow 'em away with confidence like that," he chuckles. Rin only continues to look proud, basking in his praise. "Ah, the art club is just around the corner. Want me to come in with you?"

Rin hops a few times, trying to peek around the corner of the hall. A difficult feat, considering they're standing a fair distance from the next turn.

"If it's not a bother," Rin mumbles.

"Alright. Let's go see if Solar's in there."

Rin doesn't look as nervous as he'd thought she'd be, practically barrelling into the art club as soon as he opens the door. The first person he notices within the room as Rin rushes in is definitely Solar—she's in the centre of the room and holding a bowl of fruit, seated on a stool while a few members are sitting around her. Her pink hair is out on display and making her the centre of attention, while her eyes are hidden behind her clearly fake glasses. There's a long bandage running up her left forearm, stopping just past her elbow. Friedrich almost raises a brow at it—he doesn't remember seeing anything like it on the magazine cover. A recent injury, perhaps?

Solar's expression lights up when she sees Rin, and the two are talking to each other in the most fast-paced conversation Friedrich has even witnessed. He move his attention away from the two girls, wondering who else is in the room. His gaze comes to a complete halt when he spots Pandora sitting a short distance away, carefully gliding a pencil along her sketchbook as she occasionally looks up at Solar.

She doesn't fail to notice Friedrich. A small smile is on his face almost immediately, natural instinct to please taking over as he walks over to her.

"Afternoon, Lamia," he greets lightly.

Pandora adds a few more lines of detail to her sketch before reaching for her eraser. "Schneider," she greets. Her voice is equally as light, almost like she's inviting him to throw some banter her way.

"Didn't know you were in the art club." He shrugs. "Always thought you just stuck to fencing with your beau."

She pokes her tongue out at him, the appendage split in two at the middle, and he almost recoils at the sight of it. Holy hell, was Chie actually telling the truth when she spread that rumour about Pandora having a forked tongue? _Does this mean Pandora's really had work done?_ "A gal can do both, can't she?"

"You're not wrong."

"So what brings you to our humble art club? Looking to join?"

Friedrich shakes his head. "Oh, no. Rin was looking for Solar, so I showed her where the art club was."

"A shame. We could always use more members."

He chuckles, though he can hear his own nervousness in the sound. "You'd let someone who can't even draw stick figures into the club? Sounds like you're desperate for the numbers."

"More the company. A small group still has its perks, though." With that, Pandora sets down her sketchbook and rises from her seat. She stretches her arms above her head before loading the book into her bag, and then she's heading for the door.

"I'll see you later, everyone," Pandora announces. "I've got a date with the Old Scratch."

There's a few noncommittal hums in response, and then the door is closed behind her ever so softly. Friedrich almost feels his heart hammering in his chest. Christ, that got scary once he saw the forked tongue. Now he knows why most people avoid her and Aza'zel.

The others look like they're getting ready to leave for the day. One by one they pack away their sketchbooks before it's just Solar, Rin, and Friedrich left in the room. The two girls are still chatting away, though look to be starting to clean up a little. He doesn't want to interrupt, but he really does need to get going.

He clears his throat until one of them looks over. Solar glances his way—and then blushes furiously as she realises she'd completely ignored him when he walked in.

"Ah!" she almost yelps. "I'm so sorry—I didn't pay enough attention! Thank you for bringing Rin over."

"It's no problem." Friedrich lifts his left wrist to check the time, uncertain of how long he's been away from his cigarettes. The orange G-Shock declares that it's well on the way to five o'clock, and he almost jerks in surprise. He points to the door with his thumb as he lowers the wrist. "I've gotta hurry home—are you two alright to do this yourself, or do you want me to hunt down one of the club members?"

Rin waves a hand at him. "We're fine," she says. "Thanks for the help, Friedrich! I hope you find a date to the dance. If not, we can form a stag club and out-show everyone else!"

He chuckles at the suggestion. "Sounds like fun. See you two 'round."

He leaves the room to a duet of goodbyes. Before the door leading to the outside world is even in sight, Friedrich pulls a cigarette from his pocket and shoves it between his lips.


	6. 05: Come On and Slam

**hello friends i am alive**

 **Despite this being one of the chapters I looked forward to the most pre-apocalypse,** ** _by George was it the hardest to write so far_** **. This chapter does mark the introductions of all characters now, though, which means the whole cast is here!**

 **And, as promised, the results of the first popularity poll are here! I'm only listing the top three, mostly because ranking everyone would be a bit long (and also because at some point _a lot_ of characters shared the same ranking):  
** **1st Place:** Chie Fujisaki  
 **2nd Place:** Friedrich Schneider  
 **3rd Place:** Andrew Kim and Ryuichi "Ryu" Hiroshi

 **I'll be opening the second popularity poll on the morning of "Z-Day"!**

* * *

 **Z-Day – 2**

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Her feet feel heavy as she walks beside her teacher—her _new_ teacher—in the direction of their classroom. He's tall and looks to be safe, and with each window they pass she can't help notice the eyes of students follow them. The signs above each sliding door become more and more pronounced with each one they pass.

2-8.

2-7.

2-6.

She can't help wondering how she'll be received by the rest of the class. According to the teacher (she thinks his name is Mr. Stevenson), most of her class is comprised of nice, high-achieving students. Only a few are troublemakers, as expected in a school the size of Haruna High.

They pass class 2-5. Mr. Stevenson tells her to wait outside the classroom door while he addresses his students. She nods silently, fixing her posture as they close the distance to 2-4.

Mr. Stevenson walks inside and closes the door partially behind him. She catches sight of some students in the front row leaning forward, peeking outside the door. The teacher commands attention as he sets his folder on the desk, and then he's launching into a small speech about a new student joining the class.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out_. It's just teenagers. What's the worst that can happen?

She shakes her head, ponytail swaying side to side lightly, as she dispels the thought from her mind. It's too soon to relax. For all she knows, all hell could break loose the moment she walks in.

Mr. Stevenson clears his throat. He calls out to her to enter. She walks automatically, mind still elsewhere as her feet guide her inside.

"Class," Mr. Stevenson says, "this is our new addition—Selina Teo. She's joined us from Singapore."

There's a chorus of sounds as she comes to a halt beside the man. Selina looks at them—but not _at_ her fellow students. There's a large number of faces she'll have to memorise, but it'll be easier to get used to them when she looks on her own terms.

The wet squeaking of a whiteboard marker gains her attention. Mr. Stevenson is still talking, explaining something else. A class schedule? An event? She can't tell. It's not until Mr. Stevenson says her name again that she pays attention.

"Now, Teo," he starts. A hand almost reaches out to her shoulder—but hesitates when her gaze locks onto it, almost cautiously watching the hand. "You'll be sitting in front of Kim, in the second row—"

"Mr. Stevenson." A male voice interrupts them. Selina looks over, spotting a boy with a cross hanging from his neck. He's behind the only free seat in the class; he must be Kim, as Mr. Stevenson had called him. "Fujisaki's leering at Teo."

Mr. Stevenson's expression drops into that of an exasperated parent's. His gaze moves to a girl in the back row with green hair, pierced brow raised in question as she leans her chin on her fist lazily.

"Fujisaki, you're not going to start something, are you?" Mr. Stevenson demands. The hairs on the back of Selina's neck stand on end. A troublemaker—just as she'd been told to expect.

Fujisaki smiles at the teacher innocently. She bats her eyelashes as she says, "Me? Cause trouble?"

Mr. Stevenson isn't convinced. "Please, for the love of everything good in the world, let it sit for a few days at least."

There's an overdramatic, appalled gasp from Fujisaki. Selina isn't sure she's going to like this girl. "Sir, are you telling me you _want_ me to be antisocial? That I _shouldn't_ try to make Teo feel welcome?"

Kim snorts loudly. Fujisaki throws her mechanical pencil at him violently. The dark-haired boy looks over his shoulder at her with a frown, but doesn't offer her any comment. Instead, Kim looks to his teacher and says, "I'll keep her in check, sir."

"Thank you, Kim." Mr. Stevenson exhales loudly, already looking exhausted. Selina's brow raises curiously; it's only nine, yet one interaction with his students has the man looking tired and ready to go to bed. "Teo, feel free to take your seat. We're just going to go over today's schedule."

She nods and weaves through the desks, ignoring the gazes of each student as she holds her bag close to her chest. There's a sympathetic smile on Kim's face as she slides into her desk, but she does her best to ignore it as she tucks her bag under her chair.

Mr. Stevenson has something written on the board—from this distance, she thinks it says, _Game at 10. Classes resume after lunch._

"As you all know," the middle-aged man goes on, "today is the dodge ball match."

There's a mixture of groans and excited squeaks throughout the class.

"Yes, yes—no math this morning or class until one. At least act like you all care about your education, Christ." Mr. Stevenson leans against his desk and sighs. "It'll be girls against boys—which you all already know—but I wanna say it now: Do _not_ get too aggressive today. This is supposed to be something for fun, not a contest to see who can break the most noses with a rubber ball."

A blond boy raises his hand lazily. "We already know Hiroshi can," he points out.

" _Thank you_ , Schneider. Truly. For the next hour I'll be accepting any forms to sit out of the game and giving you time to get permission over the phone from parents if you forgot to bring a note. Once ten o'clock hits, I expect you all to walk in an _orderly fashion_ —" He sends a glare to a small group of girls in the back corner of the room. "—to the gym."

There's a small amount of giggling before he sits down at his desk and unbuttons his jacket. Students start reaching for their bags and chatting amongst themselves. Just faintly, Selina can hear the conversation between Fujisaki and the boys around her.

"Oh, and Teo?" Selina looks up at the teacher, who now watches her with uncertainty. "You're free to sit out of the game. We have others during the year, and playing on your first day might be a little overwhelming."

She can't even begin to imagine what part of it would be overwhelming. Nevertheless, though, Selina nods and waits as the hour passes.

* * *

As expected, the gym is packed with the rest of the student body sitting on the bleachers on either side of the room. The third-years occupy the spot near the supply shed doors, while the first-years are fortunate enough to have the toilets right behind them. Haruhi can almost feel herself sighing in exasperation at the level of excitement the third-years are showing.

This is a yearly thing, apparently, and she remembers very clearly watching from the very same spot the first-years are sitting last year. The only difference between the two events seems to be just the exact sport. This year demands dodge ball, last year demanded a competitive version of the beep test. She'd been in awe and excited to see how such a big spectacle would go down, but now that she's involved in one such "spectacle" she really just wants to sit down. A small part of her wishes she'd gotten a note to excuse her from the game like Aoi had, but her pride and her desire to be involved was much, much more persuasive.

There's still a small amount of students to come, but from the looks of things everything seems to be in place. The basketball court is large and accommodating to each year level, the girls of the second year on one side and the boys on the other. The rubber balls that are to be used in the match—all eleven of them—are being lined up along the midcourt line. All of the PE teachers are playing their own roles in setting up the game, but it's the baseball coach who really gets the crowd pumped. Microphone dangling from his hip, probably connected to the speakers in each corner of the room; Haruhi thinks he might give a short speech before any kind of progress is made to actually starting the game, which may just give her some time to figure out her game plan.

Jessica stands beside Haruhi with a bored expression—not unusual for this time of day. Just like Haruhi, the girl hadn't bothered to bring in a note to get out of the game. Though Haruhi suspects it may be for different reasons; Jessica's pride doesn't fuel her like Haruhi's does, and she'd probably been reluctant to ask a favour of her father. Either way, the two girls are in this together.

Haruhi exhales tiredly as she fixes the hem of her tank top. The camisole underneath shifts awkwardly, but it's easy enough to remedy before anyone notices.

"Where's Kashima gone?" Jessica asks absently. Almost like she's not too bothered by Aoi not being around.

She searches the bleachers before pointing towards the middle of the girls' side, nudging Jessica softly. "She's over there."

As if on cue, once Jessica looks up and spots Aoi, the smaller girl waves at her friends with a large smile on her face. Today she dons a pink wig styled in hime cut, a white bow pinned to one side as an accessory. In the back of her mind, Haruhi wonders what kind of wig Aoi will wear tomorrow.

"Oh," is all Jessica says. Her attention is moved away from Aoi fairly quickly, to the dark-haired girl beside her. "Who's next to her? I don't recognise—"

"The fresh meat."

Haruhi jumps ever so slightly, startled by the sudden arrival of a new voice. She looks wildly to her left, half-expecting to find Chie standing there. Why wouldn't she expect the girl, either? Chie makes everyone's business her own, and if Haruhi and Jessica are in the game then something juicy _must_ be going on.

But instead she sees someone unfamiliar. Low-cut tank top, bright red curls cascading over her shoulders. This isn't someone Haruhi knows personally, nor does she think she'll ever know personally.

"Heard she's the new girl," the newcomer goes on. "Selma, or whatever."

Jessica glares at the girl. It's funny to see, witnessing someone only an inch taller than Haruhi looking like a ferocious pit bull. "And you are?" she growls.

The redhead holds out two hands, both intended to be shaken by either girl. "Hestia Pavlopoulos," she says confidently. There's a lazy, almost sultry smile on her face. "Just call me Hestia."

Haruhi shakes her hand. Jessica doesn't.

"Is there a reason you're over here?" Jessica demands.

"Outside of trying to pick up a cutie? Sure." Hestia winks at them playfully. Haruhi can barely hide the distaste in her expression. "My siblings and I are having a contest to see if we can put other Greek Gods' names to students here. Drew names out of a hat and everything. I'm not the most well-versed with mythology, so I thought I'd ask around and get some help."

It sounds like a dumb game between siblings. "Sounds like fun," Haruhi says absently. Hestia nods, amusement in her eyes.

"It is, it is. D—he's playing today—D and I got Eros, so we're working together to find out who would fit. Let's see, what did he say the traits were...?"

Jessica groans and crosses her arms in front of her. "Eros is essentially the Greek Cupid," she snaps. "You'd have to look for boys who flirt a lot or something. Is that all you needed?"

A contemplative look passes over Hestia's face as she glances at the boys' team. She's silent for a few seconds, bottom lip worrying between her teeth, before finally she nods.

"That's it," she says. "Thanks for the help. Good luck with the game, too."

As she starts walking away, Haruhi blurts out, "Aren't you playing?"

Hestia laughs bitterly. "Goodness, no. I'm far too pretty for a game like this."

The redhead retreats for the first-year bleachers. She moves through the crowd and straight for a dark-skinned boy with glasses, and immediately sets to work pushing his buttons with a sly smile. Haruhi frowns at her, at the boy she's harassing, and wonders distantly where she may have heard the name Pavlopoulos before.

Jessica snorts. It's an unladylike sound, coming from her. "Too pretty for dodge ball," she grumbles. "Bet she's the type to coast off of her looks and other people's accomplishments. She reeks of spoiled brat, too."

Haruhi can hardly look at Jessica as she mumbles, "Aren't we the same?"

"We're different. Your reputation is at least built on something thanks to your archery skills—and I'll bet actual money that I'm a better singer than _Hestia_." She says Hestia's name in an annoyingly high pitch, almost mocking Hestia's introduction as she rolls her eyes. Haruhi can hardly hold back her giggle as she turns back to face Jessica.

"Who do you think will win this?" she asks. Her voice lowers when she hears the baseball coach start booming out instructions, commanding attention from the second-years gathered on either side of the court.

Jessica hums and shrugs. "Let's see..." she mumbles. "Who have we got on our side...?"

They look around at their team absently—at the significantly smaller numbers compared to the boys' side—and hum in unison. It doesn't feel like this is going to be a fair fight. Even with the girls who are part of clubs and have great stamina, the numbers compared to all the boys from the soccer team, baseball team, and basketball team don't look to be in their favour.

A few people from the bleachers join them: Rin, the small girl who is somehow a second-year; Hinazuki, one of Haruhi's acquaintances; even a brown-eyed girl who yells out and demands that Hestia put in effort for once joins in. Haruhi watches the last girl for a solid few seconds. She can't fathom how a girl like Hestia would be associated with her, though she can come up with a few theories as to why she would be yelling out at the redhead.

Her brows furrow. She shouldn't be so curious about why someone would like Hestia, yet here she is—wondering.

She's jerked backwards suddenly. Haruhi almost cries out and throws her fist in every direction possible, defensive instincts taking over as she twists around the arm slung over her shoulder. She almost doesn't recognise who's interrupted their thoughts until she sees another arm around Jessica's shoulder; adorned at the wrist, a trademark look of Haruna's Scout, is a purple bandana. Green hair flicks onto Haruhi's face as Chie leans down to stand at eye-level with the two girls.

"Ladies," Chie greets. "I see your buddy-chum-pal is getting cosy with my new girl."

Her voice is dripping with annoyance, sarcasm just barely detectable, but her face remains neutral and impassive.

Jessica reaches for Chie's arm, sliding out from under her as her forefinger and thumb hold up Chie's wrist. "I assume you mean Kashima," Jessica says with distaste.

"I like to call her the spawn of Satan, but whatever floats your boat." Chie shrugs, leaning her weight more onto Haruhi. Haruhi doesn't back down. If she does, it'll feel like Chie's gotten to her—and the last thing she needs is to inflate that ego.

"By the way, songbird," Chie goes on, turning her attention to Jessica fully. Haruhi is half-tempted to do the same as Jessica—just move the arm off of her shoulder—but it might still come off as running away. "Will you be taking requests for Thursday night? I've got a nice list of songs that I _know_ Hinazuki and Kim will like."

Jessica's jaw clenches. Haruhi swears she can see the skin around her nose twitch, though the girl's face remains as impassive as Chie's.

"Oh, so Hinazuki got the courage to ask your choir boy classmate to the dance?" she asks with disinterest.

Chie just laughs lowly, a wide grin breaking out on her face. "Wrong Kim, sweetheart."

There it is again—the twitch in Jessica's face. For a second Haruhi thinks she's going to burst out with an angry retort, tell Chie to get lost. But instead, Jessica swivels on her heel and storms towards the court's baseline. The two girls watch as Jessica speeds past Hinazuki and a smaller group of girls, her shoulder slamming violently into Hinazuki's side as she passes. Hinazuki stumbles and falls onto her knees, left behind as Jessica ignores her entirely.

Chie stands up straight now, removing her arm from Haruhi's shoulder. "Better," she says to herself. "I never could deal with Baek, you know. Too close with our wit-levels."

"What do you _want_?" Haruhi snaps quietly. The coach orders the girls and boys to start making their ways to the baselines on their sides of the court. Chie nods to Haruhi as she turns on her heel.

"We've had a dramatic week," Chie says. "Ietaka and Ryu get into a fight. Hinazuki's ring goes missing. New student in my class with _major_ issues—it's a goldmine, I swear—"

"Is there a point to this?"

"My _point_ ," Chie goes on, "is that I heard you dumped your dance date on Monday. Very interesting piece of news."

They're resting their feet on the line as the crowd waits with bated breaths. Beside Chie, Haruhi can just barely make out the shape of the girl who had yelled at Hestia.

"Funny," Haruhi growls. "I thought you couldn't care less who I went with."

"That was before I knew it was Ietaka."

Haruhi rolls her eyes. Of course Chie would be interested if someone who very openly hated her was involved.

"It leaves me to wonder," Chie continues, softer this time. The coach's hand is raised in a _ready, set_ motion. "Just who is going to be Queen Bee's consort?"

The coach lets out a loud yell—the signal for the start of the game. Everyone breaks into a sprint all at once, sneakers and flats squeaking against the wood floor. Haruhi watches as the boys race competitively for the rubber balls, as the girls start to form defensive positions with each group they join.

It takes a while for Haruhi to notice she isn't running. She's only moved a few steps away from the baseline, breaths calm and even as she watches the first of the balls flung into their side of the court.

There's a loud _twang_ in the air—the first casualty of the game. An orange ball flies up into the air, bounces once, and heads in Haruhi's direction. The crowd of girls ahead of her don't seem to notice it, too focused on the balls still on the boys' side of the court. She whisks it up, rolls it between her hands, and watches the court calmly.

Not even twenty seconds have passed and already three girls have been hit. Two boys are walking off towards the benches, groaning as they duck behind those still in the game. There's an opening in front of her, a weak spot in the boys' defence, and Haruhi can hardly hold back her grin as she sees who it is in the middle of it. His surgical mask is still on his face, but his scarf is missing today. This leaves his shirt—decorated with the image of grinning, bloodied fangs—as a target for Haruhi to aim at.

Charles Mu. Mr. Attitude, himself. She's almost amazed he's even in the game today. Whatever reason he couldn't get out, he still remains a prime target for Haruhi. She reels back her arm, creeping along the outside of the group beside her, and does her best to keep the ball hidden behind her back as she lines up her and Charles' paths.

Once he's in view, side turned to her in ignorance, Haruhi flings the ball at full speed. It hits Charles right on the hip, knocking the boy to the floor violently. The ball bounces away once, twice, and then is picked up by a passing Ambrogio De Vitis. Charles searches frantically for the source of the ball—and then spots Haruhi as he starts to push himself to his feet again.

His amber eyes narrow considerably. A glare. Haruhi shrugs at him. It was his fault for leaving himself open.

She moves as fast as she can out of the open, hiding behind a congested group of girls on the opposite end of the court. Only one of them has a ball, deflecting any thrown her way while the others cower behind her and urge her on. A few of them try to catch the balls, but only wind up getting themselves removed by their fumbles.

She spots Jessica on her own just a short distance away. She's watching the boys' team like a hawk, deftly dodging a few balls thrown her way. Haruhi watches in awe as one careens towards Jessica, only to be caught in a full-bodied embrace by the girl. As quick as it was caught, Jessica launches the ball back at its original owner.

It hits Ambrogio right in the nose just as one girl waiting by the benches walks back onto the court.

Amazing. Just amazing. Haruhi will never underestimate Jessica and her lazy demeanour ever again.

A flash of green passes her—one girl jumps high into the air and catches a ball that would've bounced right into someone's face. The flannel tied around her waist whips about wildly, Chie calling across the room, "Eat shit, Jefferson!"

Haruhi can't help but laugh at the enthusiasm. From the looks of things, certain people on the bleachers don't feel the same way. Haruhi just barely sees Ichiro rise to his feet and cuss at Jefferson for "getting hit by such a piece of shit so easily". Ichiro's gaze jumps from Jefferson to Haruhi, and then his already angry expression is curling up into a snarl.

Haruhi scoffs at him. If he's going to be like that, she may as well give him a proper reason to scowl at her. Haruhi jogs over to Chie's side, carefully ducking as the green-haired girl raises her arm and pretends to throw the ball across the room. A few boys duck away and break apart from their crowd, but the one Chie wants doesn't seem to be among them.

Carefully dodging an oncoming ball, Haruhi calls out above the scuffling of shoes, "Fujisaki!"

Chie glances at her over her shoulder, barely paying her any mind as she assesses the boys' team. "What?"

"Go to the dance with me."

Chie's posture rights itself straight away. Her shoulders relax, as does her grip on the ball, as she turns to look fully at Haruhi. Brown eyes wide and jaw dropping ever so slightly, she says, "No shit?"

Haruhi clears her throat. "Y—Yeah. That."

As quick as she'd processed the question, Chie's face breaks out into a menacing grin. She turns back on her heel and lets the ball fly through the air. It comes in hard contact with a baby-faced boy, knocking his round glasses to the floor as he stumbles backwards, winded. Chie grunts victoriously, a dark look in her eye as she cackles to herself.

"Today is a _great_ day," she yells. Before Haruhi can so much as stop her, Chie sprints into the fray and scoops up another ball.

It takes a few seconds for Haruhi's actions to sink in—for Chie's own reaction to finally make sense. Her stomach practically does a somersault as the past _year_ of Chie trying to weed her way into Haruhi's business catches up with her.

She may as well have thrown herself into the volcano at this point.

One glance up at Ichiro shows the boy's warm, beige skin changing rapidly to an infuriated shade of red. Haruhi would be he knows exactly what she asked Chie, and he's more than unhappy with it. It serves him right, she tells herself; Ichiro was the one who'd gotten into a fight, who'd presumed Haruhi would stick with him after making a fool of himself. He had it coming.

Just as Haruhi, standing still and staring up at him, has the rubber ball to the hip coming. She's knocked over, just barely catching herself with her hands as they land on the wood floor. Ichiro's still red in the face, but he's grinning now—probably because of the karma that came back and struck Haruhi. A quick glance to the other side of the court shows a blond boy making finger guns at her—Schneider, she thinks his name is—before he moves to catch another ball and sprints to the other side of his teammates.

The walk to the bench is filled with shame. Hinazuki, only just recently taken down by Ryuichi, moves over and pats a free portion of the bench for Haruhi. It's now that she's sitting down that Haruhi can see where this game may just be going. There's considerably less girls than boys out there, two more dejected second-years moving for the bench and sitting beside Haruhi.

She huffs out a sigh and frowns. The girls aren't going to win this match.

Hinazuki shifts in her spot, offering Haruhi a timid smile. "We probably would've done better if we had the third-years involved, too," Hinazuki notes. At Haruhi's confused look, she points up to the third-year bleachers—at a tall black girl cheering at the top of her lungs. "Mulaudzi's pretty tough, I hear. She'd probably demolish the boys."

Looking at the girl now, Haruhi can see it. Even from this distance, she can make out the shape of her muscular arms. Lindiwe Mulaudzi, she thinks her name is. As far as Haruhi knows, there aren't many other students from South Africa like Lindiwe is; makes it easier for her to remember who the girl is, in a way. She continues to watch, dedicating the details of Lindiwe's overall appearance to memory, until finally she nods in agreement with Hinazuki.

"She'd be carrying the team," she mutters.

"I wouldn't go that far," Hinazuki laughs nervously. "Baek is doing a pretty good job today. I didn't know she had it in her!"

It's true. Jessica, the tired, barely active girl from class 2-1 is more than making up for her laziness today. A good majority of the boys' team has been struck by her, and not a single ball has even grazed her clothes as she dodges gracefully. It's almost uncanny to see.

Hinazuki clears her throat then, fingers tangling in the material of her skirt. "Say, I didn't... _do_ anything to make Baek mad, did I?"

"Why do you ask?"

"She keeps glaring at me, and before the game started she just rammed into me without even saying anything. Doesn't she do that to people she wants to leave her alone?"

She does. All the time. "I don't think so."

Hinazuki has a dubious expression on her face, but doesn't question it further. Instead, she returns her focus to the game and watches with only half of her previous interest. She doesn't look reassured by Haruhi's lie, nor does she look too happy watching Jessica mow down the boys across the gym with each throw. Haruhi may have to interrogate Jessica later about the sudden bursts of energy, but for now she's content with just watching from their long, _long_ line of girls waiting to be brought back into the game.

She gets a big surprise as she watches Ryuichi get hit in the back with a ball. It came from someone Haruhi doesn't recognise—probably a lesser known girl from the further end of the second floor—and she high fives her blonde friend beside her at her success. Their glee doesn't last for long, though. Almost as soon as they smack their hands together, a ball is propelled in their direction. The blonde is hit, and Unknown Girl stares in horror at the perpetrator. Schneider gives her that same finger gun and smile, and then he's sprinting off to get another ball.

They're really not going to win this game.

Her eyes run over the teams slowly. There's a lot to take in all at once, though at the same time there isn't. It's just balls being thrown at people and people screaming. From a glance the teams look to be evenly numbered, though it doesn't take long for Haruhi to notice the difference in the lines of players waiting to be caught back in. There's definitely more boys left than girls, and they're slowly outnumbering them and turning the game into an obvious win.

This is what Haruhi would predict for the entirety of the game, if she hadn't witnessed Jessica leap into the air right then and there and launch a ball into a crowd of boys. They scatter like baby spiders from a mother—and one falls as the ball bounces off of him. It takes her a while to recognise him, but once he sits up and fixes his shirt it's easy for Haruhi to put a name to his face. Andrew—the very same Andrew who took down Ichiro in what had felt like a split second.

More girls are cheering for Jessica, now standing on the benches and joining some of the spectators in their chants. Almost as soon as Jessica lands, Chie sprints past her and reaches for a ball—only to jump back when a ball whizzes past her.

Haruhi doesn't know why, but her gaze immediately flits to Ichiro after the dodge. She shouldn't care about what his reaction to Chie still playing will be, nor should she care about Chie playing in the first place. She was never part of their petty squabbles, nor does she want to be. She can't explain the smile that creeps onto her face as she sees Ichiro stare at Chie with what can only be described as the most livid expression known to man. Nor can she explain her frown as he stands up and yells something above the crowd.

It takes a while for the words to register in her mind, but she knows it has something to do with Chie. All of the boys' attention goes to her, and suddenly Chie's running left and right as balls are thrown from every direction. Haruhi blinks and watches as a purple ball smashes directly into Chie's leg—the scarred leg she keeps out on display—and listens to the cheers of one boy in particular.

It's a boy from her class. Eden L'Orient, his name is. French, rich, popular and handsome. He's one of the few people Haruhi knows that's a mixture of both her brand of popularity and Jessica's. Cold and blunt, but still managing to be charismatic and likable in his own right. He throws his hands up in the air and yells at the top of his lungs, " _Six! Hundred! Kay! Profit!_ "

Ichiro's words finally click into place. He offered whoever hit Chie six hundred thousand yen. An offer Eden just won.

Haruhi tries to send a sympathetic look to Chie, but it falls flat as she overhears the girl mutter angrily to herself, "Six hundred thousand. What a joke—I'm worth a million at least." One would think she'd be upset about being targeted so openly, yet it's the monetary value assigned to her by Ichiro that she's disgruntled over. _Amazing_.

She isn't left with very long to ponder on Chie's obsession with her value, attention drawn back to the game as the boys start aiming for the rest of the girls again. The momentary distraction that had come with Ichiro's offer provides the girls with at least some form of an upper hand—a few boys are still distracted, suddenly aware of just how few balls are on their side of the court, and the remaining girls are all splitting off to different sides of the court to get better vantage points. Haruhi watches as Unknown Girl hovers near the edge of the court, grey eyes glued to Schneider in anger as a holler from down the bench cheers her on. Schneider is out within the next few minutes, and then the girls are evening the odds with each decisive blow.

Haruhi hates to admit it, but she's starting to see why everyone had gotten so into the running match last year. When you're in the thick of it, it feels much more intense and like even more things are at stake. Not just pride as a student—as someone who wants to avoid being part of the "first ten" to be eliminated—but also the camaraderie that each team will share for just today. On any other day, Haruhi knows that Mori, one of Ichiro's followers, would never be seen with Eden in some kind of positive social situation. One is a student whose methods rely on being a sheep for his own safety, while the other lives off of getting on top. Today, though, they're defending each other as they pick and choose their targets, actually agreeing instead of having Eden take charge and ordering Mori around.

It sounds dumb. It also sounds stupidly poetic. Haruhi doesn't care, though—she's just happy to see her friends getting along with people they struggle to stay on good terms with, if only to bring victory to the second-year girls.

As soon as her hype begins to escalate, however, the girls start getting picked off again. The numbers on either side of the court are dwindling, down to at least half a dozen on each side. Jessica is still in the game, which Haruhi finds to be a miracle in itself. She smirks with each throw, like she knows the ball will hit its target. Hinazuki shifts uncomfortably with each strike from Jessica.

One person in particular keeps dodging her throws. Haruhi's surprised to see Eden shining further after his six hundred thousand profit, especially with how loudly the rubber balls collide with the wood at his feet. He's caught on to Jessica targeting him—and it seems to make him think he's the strongest player on his side right now.

"Try harder, sweetie!" he yells to Jessica. Eden skids behind another boy, using him as a human shield from another of Jessica's throws.

Jessica scowls, her expression displaying only frustration. "Don't 'sweetie' me, _sugar_ ," she snarls back. Eden cackles and throws the ball in his hand. Unknown Girl slinks over to the bench with a look of dismay and a slowly reddening mark on her arm.

"Give me something to work with, Jessica," Eden complains. One boy gives him a light shove, an unspoken request to stop talking to their opponents. Eden ignores him. "I'm trying to start some friendly trash talk."

Brown eyes roll dramatically at his statement. She throws another ball at him, aiming for his head, but Eden dodges it and lets it collide with a boy behind him. "It's not like you to avoid balls being shoved in your face," Jessica taunts half-heartedly.

Eden feigns a hurt look, but is quick to recover and send another girl to the benches. It's two against two—Rin and Jessica against Eden and Mori—before Rin snatches up another ball and throws it unexpectedly at Mori. Mori doesn't have much of a chance to dodge, too busy glancing between Eden and Jessica with a concerned expression.

The yellow ball hits him square in the nose, and Haruhi can just barely hear Rin call above the crowd's cheers, "Oh, dear! Rin is sorry!"

Haruhi stares at the setup with wide eyes. Eden is the only boy left on his team, with the unexpected powerhouse Jessica out for blood as she bounces a green ball patiently. Rin is just a short distance away, another ball in her hands as she looks between Eden and Jessica. Eden also has a ball in his hands, and Haruhi can't help but think of a movie cliché over the situation. Everyone is armed and waiting for someone to make the first move, unwilling to throw away their chance at victory before someone else. What do they call this in cinema? A Mexican standoff? Whatever it is, it fits this situation perfectly.

Gone are their attempts at banter, and instead they stare at each other in silence as the crowd's cheers almost deafen Haruhi. The girls sound as though they are sure to win together; the boys sound as though Eden will pull through somehow and win on his own.

They move in a flash. Jessica's arm swings back as Rin fakes a throw, and then she's launching her ball at Eden with intense concentration on her face.

The ball sails through the air, hurtling towards Eden, and the girls at the bench start to rise in anticipation. There's a smirk on Jessica's face—a smirk that says she's the winner—as Rin watches with her jaw dropped completely. Eden's expression remains impassive, eyes trained on the ball as it gets closer and closer.

Life seems to move in slow motion. Haruhi is among the girls who stand, ready to screech at the top of her lungs at Jessica's victory. It looks to be such a sure-fire thing that she even feels a squeak bubble up and leap out of her throat.

And then Eden moves. At first she thinks he's going to dodge to either side. It'd result in Rin throwing her own ball, hitting him while he gathers his footing. Haruhi watches smugly as he leans back—probably trying to go for one of those _Matrix_ bullet-dodging scene recreations—and then wipes the grin off of her face when he careens forward rapidly. His arms fly out, balancing him, and Haruhi has to hold herself back from screaming, "How the _hell_ can he do that?"

It's an aerial cartwheel. A forward-moving aerial cartwheel. She watches in awe as the ball just barely grazes past Eden's head, missing him by only inches as he flips as elegantly as a cat falling off a fence. The victorious smirk on Jessica's face falls away just as fast as her ball moves, and she's raising her hands to her head as the sheer weight of Eden's accomplishment hits her.

The ball is thrown from Eden's hand as soon as his feet touch the ground. It flies in the direction of Rin—of his last remaining threat—and hits her square in the chest. Rin is propelled backwards, arms flying about as she turns mid-fall. The ball ricochets off of her shoulder and bounces over to Jessica. Before Jessica can even react, the ball collides with her midsection harshly. The gym is silent for a few seconds after, the students still processing just what had transpired. Only the rubber ball, with its loud, hollow sounds, fills the silence.

It isn't until Lindiwe, all the way from the top of the third-year bleachers, shrieks and hazardously begins to descend that everyone starts to react accordingly. She knocks over her fellow classmates as she chants Eden's name, as Eden hollers back at her in agreement; by the time she's at the gym floor, the boys' team is celebrating as they scream about Eden's " _sick flip_ ". She rushes to his side before his teammates can, whisking him up by the waist and recreating quite possibly the most iconic scene from _Titanic_ as others swarm around them.

Haruhi is left sitting dumbfounded as first-years and third-years start to join the boys' team. She was so certain they'd win now that it was down to Rin and Jessica against Eden. Two against one and all that crap. It's just unheard of—and yet she's staring at the aftermath of it, watching as Eden crowd surfs with a loud cheer.

She shakes her head in disbelief as someone brushes past her. Not only is Eden L'Orient the winner of this match, the hero of his year level, but he's also six hundred thousand yen richer. She knows Ichiro won't be happy with this—with giving a hefty sum of money to one of the already rich students—but she also knows he won't back down from his offer. He wanted Chie hit with that ball, and he got it fair and square.

Jessica slinks over to Haruhi's side as more people rush for Eden as Lindiwe carries him high above her head. There's a bored expression on Jessica's face, but the slightest twitch of her brow as the cheers get louder and louder is a dead giveaway that she's annoyed with her loss.

"What a colossal waste of time," Jessica sighs.

* * *

He may as well be on cloud nine right now.

Today has just felt like _his_ day. Not his and a few other people's—just his and his alone. Eden folds and unfolds the cheque as he slides his feet into his shoes. He almost can't believe he managed to snag so much money just for hitting someone in the face with a ball. Granted, he's not exactly a big fan of Chie Fujisaki's. In fact, he's gone so far as to call her as cheap as unauthentic American in the past. But he still thinks it was a steal, scoring six hundred thousand yen for just socking her with a rubber ball.

Eden knows exactly what he's going to do with this cheque. He's known since the moment that asshole offered the money to literally all of the boys in the game. It'll just take a lot of convincing and stubbornness on his part to make sure it goes to a good cause.

A shrill voice echoes down the hall. Eden scowls and quickly shoves the cheque into the drawer of his bedside table. He's taken too long, and he really doesn't want that bitch coming in and yelling at him for taking too long to put on his shoes.

Eden gives himself a quick once-over in his mirror—the gel pushing back his hair and holding his soft curls in place looks almost dry—before he finally shuts the door behind him. It doesn't take long to find _her_ as he fixes his tie.

It's safe to say that Eden has never really liked his aunt Sherry, even when he keeps in mind that he'd been the one to find her. Despite the fact that Sherry had actually _agreed_ to take him in. He'd been so sure she'd be different from her sister, his mother, but it's become pretty obvious that Sherry was just concealing her intentions. Sherry isn't open about her malicious intent. Unlike her sister, she doesn't outright yell at someone and say they should never have been born.

Sherry is more like Eden. That's what makes her the most unbearable to him. For the longest time Eden thought he'd become different from his family—he hadn't ran away like _Gregory_ , he hadn't played the role of antagonist for those younger than him, he wasn't so utterly defenceless—but that first year with Sherry just proved him wrong. If anything, it showed he took after his mother's side more.

His fingers twitch in annoyance at the thought—the idea that he's anything like _Margaret_ —as Sherry comes into his sight by the stairway. He tries to have zero opinion of her, but it's hard when she reminds him of so many things. Things he'd rather forget and move past.

Her cherry-painted lips are torn up into a scowl. Eden does his best to calm himself, to keep his anger at bay as she complains about how long he'd taken. He should be grateful, she tells him, because it's not very often that a wealthy, rich man would want to meet her nephew during their date. He should keep this in mind if he ever tries to dawdle again, she berates him.

Eden grunts noncommittally. She furrows her plucked brows at him. He makes his way down the stairs and tells her obnoxiously, "Better not dawdle there, Auntie."

As far as Eden knows, they're going out to dinner with Sherry's new boyfriend. A rich man who, for some ungodly reason, actually wants to spend time with the woman without being blackmailed into it. It's more than obvious that Sherry is in the relationship for the money—why else would the materialistic witch love someone?—and it seems that she's willing to go so far as to enlist _Eden's_ help to get it tonight. The amusing thought of messing up tonight passes his mind as he buckles his seatbelt, but it soon scampers away as he remembers how fine a line he's toeing with Sherry. If the two are truly anything alike, Eden knows _exactly_ how she would get him back for screwing this up—it'd be what he'd do in her place, after all.

They drive around for a good few minutes before Eden finally recognises the direction they're heading in. There are no restaurants on this side of Tokonosu, instead filled with high metal gates and large mansions. Rich families, traditional _vieux riche_ families. It's a complete one-eighty to the street Lindiwe lives on, no signs of stacked apartments and compartmentalised garden beds. These streets are full of green and shows of money, a competition between each resident to show just how much better than can make their homes look than the rest.

It makes Eden almost envious. He wouldn't mind having access to enough money to live like this. If Sherry weren't such a scrooge who only splurged on herself, he could definitely see himself making a head start into this kind of living.

The car starts to slow down as they approach one house with high mosaic-like gates. He squints at them, trying to place where he's seen them, and watches the road ahead as they start to slide open with the car's arrival. This must be Rich Boyfriend's house, he thinks. It's certainly fancy enough to catch Sherry's attention, after all.

The long driveway ends at a small fountain just a short distance away from the front steps. Eden scrunches up his face at the sight of it, at the sheer display of wealth behind it. Whoever picked it really needs to rethink their tastes, because who would look at a fountain covered in marble swans and think "fancy"? It honestly looks more like it's reaching for attention in Eden's eyes.

Sherry pulls the keys out of the ignition. Eden reaches for his door. The car clicks loudly as the locks activate. He sighs—here comes the pre-dinner "pep talk".

The woman wastes no time fixing her dress so that it sits lower and displays more cleavage, eyes glued to her reflection in the rear-view mirror as she checks her makeup. "We are a happy family," she tells him blankly. There's no threat to her voice—there doesn't need to be. Eden knows just how bad the consequences of sabotaging her night could be. "You are my intelligent, happy nephew who loves me very much. You are grateful I took you in out of the goodness of my heart. We have a mutual respect for each other."

Eden snorts at that last reminder. Sherry's eyes move to him in an instant, cold glare directed at him as she waits for him to object. Eden just stares blankly back at her.

" _Happy. Family_." She growls this out through her teeth once more, and then the doors are unlocked. She slides out of the car without another word.

As they walk to the doors of Rich Boyfriend's house, they work their most pleasant smiles onto their faces. From the moment they're within an earshot of door and anyone behind it, they chuckle at each other as though one of them had said something funny; as soon as Sherry rings the doorbell and calls out cheerfully for her "Junny-Jun", Eden comes up with a good number of white lies to tell during the dinner.

Her Junny-Jun answers the door fairly quickly. No-nonsense expression, a critical once-over of both Sherry and Eden's smiling faces. He invites them in, his blunt and serious expression almost too familiar for Eden—though he can't quite place where he would see a man like this. On the news, perhaps?

They're led inside, through the lobby and into the living room. Once they clear that hurdle, taking the path that leads to the dining room, Eden's heart begins to sink. He really should've seen this coming sooner, considering Sherry's ambitions and the home's outlandish design. Not only that, but _Junny-Jun_ is most definitely a man featured on TV a lot—the red flags should've been raised from the moment he held the suspicion.

It's far too late to feign sickness or give Sherry a convincing reason to leave him at home for the night, and this realisation doesn't quite sink in until Eden sees Junny-Jun's son sitting at the table. Ichiro looks up at his guests with a scowl that rival's even Sherry's, and it's more than obvious that Eden's good day has just taken a graceful swan dive off of a cliff.

Rich Boyfriend is Mayor Ietaka.

Rich Boyfriend is _Mayor Jun Ietaka_.

* * *

 **Would it be cheeky of me to say that the dodge ball match wasn't the only thing I was looking forward to in this chapter? Because let me tell you the whole situation with Eden and Ichiro may just be one of my favourite coincidences among forms right alongside having two drug families controlling the area. _Thank you guys so much for giving me wonderful coincidences like these_.**

 **Now then, on to the hints! Since I forgot a hint last chapter, I'm giving you guys an easy one this time!**

1: The Fool is a female student.  
2: The Fool was one of the members of the group who wanted to look for their families.  
3: The Fool was uncertain of her heroic archetype at the time of the conversation on it.  
4: The Fool has naturally dark hair.

 **We're getting close to Z-Day, but we've still got a bit of stuff to go through first! Enjoy the kids' final day of normalcy!**


End file.
